


Short Change Heroes (Watch You Bleed)

by Mytay



Series: Trouble's Making Everything All Right [7]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: And Those Gun Holsters, Angst, Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Rocking Those Leather Pants, Space Cowboys - Freeform, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-07 21:52:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 92,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11632653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mytay/pseuds/Mytay
Summary: Pidge noted the two missing fingers, and watched as a pair of silver eyes widened.“You’re … you’re like Lance. And Keith.”Hunk let out a sound, desperate and high-pitched. Pidge staggered forward but reigned herself in as the woman pointed a shotgun her way.“We’re here to take them home.”Shiro spoke so calmly, the kind of calm Pidge was sure none of them felt.Lance and Keith have been gone for eleven months, one week and three hours. Team Voltron is landing on a planet with no name, and they’re looking for their Red and Blue Paladins. But who they find instead are The Two McClains, a pair of scarred, ruthless cowboy mercenaries.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Čeština available: [Ošizení hrdinové (pozorují, jak krvácíš)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13384995) by [Enikawa_Moriko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enikawa_Moriko/pseuds/Enikawa_Moriko)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from [_Short Change Hero_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l6eSksEp27U), by The Heavy, and the lyrics of [_Welcome to the Jungle_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o1tj2zJ2Wvg), by Guns ‘N Roses. (Thank you, **zambasabretooth** , for sharing _Short Change Hero_ with me! It helped so much with inspiration!)
> 
> A huge pile of thanks to the fantastically amazing **ThornQueen** for an incredible idea that ended up in here, to **Kaylessa** for another fabulous concept I’ve used, to **hholy** for a great angst opportunity, and to many anonymous others (both here and on Tumblr) who shared thoughts and theories on this series — thank you so, so much! I’ll give more specific credit in the endnotes of the last chapter, for the sake of not spoiling anything in the story :D
> 
> Endless and extremely heartfelt thanks to **Reader115** for being the best reading buddy _ever_ , and especially for telling me that people discussing their feelings was totally normal and probably necessary after so much time apart. You, my dear, are all too amazing for putting up with me.
> 
>  **Please note** that since this story got so damn long on me (currently 58,000 words), **I've broken it up into three chapters for easier editing purposes**. I kinda hate to break with my streak of one-shots, but there you have it. So, yes, this is the first of three chapters — there is more of this story to come!
> 
>  **Warning:** The violence is described in greater detail in this story. Also, angst, but I’m sure you all already knew this part would be pretty heavy, emotionally speaking. 
> 
> *nervously* And without further ado …

 

****** 

_Part One: Pidge_

_First Day, Early Afternoon_  

******

Pidge’s hacking programs had garnered a wealth of information in two hours — mostly that these people were _awful,_ the absolute _worst,_ and maybe they _deserved_ to be left to the Galra Empire.

 

Pidge needed to get Lance and Keith, and then they _all_ needed to get the hell out of this system.

 

However, they were constantly surrounded by soldiers — dozens of them — as if _they_ were the dangerous, dishonest ones here. Pidge was willing to cut through their entire planetary army to get to Keith and Lance, let alone through these pricks who thought themselves justified in treating Allura and the rest of Team Voltron as threats.

 

Voltron, Defender of the Universe, a menace, as opposed to _lying creeps_ who actually _banished people to live on a remote, lawless planet,_ and _left them and their kids to rot._

 

She scanned the lines of code appearing on her pocket computer, trying to keep the disgust from her face as her hacking program dug up all the dirt Jacomir’s government had tried to bury — dark secrets hidden from its populace. In the public media, they referred to the prison planet as a _permanent rehabilitation retreat._ Pidge had to cover her mouth to hold back a curse.

 

Apparently, the Jacomir Grand General had finally pushed the princess too far — Pidge had been ready to fly off the handle at any moment since they'd landed here, but she was so glad that Allura did so instead.

 

“How _dare you_?” Allura hissed, vocalizing everything Pidge was thinking, but far more eloquently. “ _We agreed to come here to exchange information — and instead we are condescended to and told to abandon our friends!_ I can see that _honour_ has no value here, let alone _justice_ and _family._ ”

 

“It is for your own safety,” the Grand General answered calmly, seemingly indifferent to Allura’s insults. “My First Generals and Citizen Captains can see that you are capable enough to withstand the dangers of 2657-AbbDn, but it would be dishonourable to not inform you of the risks — risks you may not deem worth taking. But by all means, accept our aid and do as you will.”

 

“You first suggested that we leave them on this planet to die — and now you say we are able to rescue them?” Coran asked, and Pidge had never heard him so _measured._ The anger beneath his words lent them strength, even though he didn’t raise his voice at all. “You have given us only the bare minimum of intel. I feel as though your aid is rather _paltry._ ”

 

“We understand that you cannot be stopped — but know that our reluctance to share information stems from concerns for our own safety.” A frown finally appeared on Liolan’s impassive face. “The last transmission we received from 2657-AbbDn suggested that an uprising was imminent. If that is the case, and even _one_ ship of those vermin breaks free to land on Jacomir … I cannot imagine the carnage. We haven’t had any serious acts of violence committed here in _decades._ That clean record will not be sullied on my watch.”

 

“I am _done_ with your excuses,” Allura snapped back. “All we are interested in is retrieving our comrades. _Which we shall do right now_.”

 

“We will provide you with clothes and weapons better suited for 2657-AbbDn. Your current gear would attract a level of attention that would make your mission difficult.”

 

That much Pidge could concede — the last thing they needed was to be fighting a constant battle on their way to Lance and Keith, or potentially getting them into trouble for associating with the new aliens. Better to blend in and retrieve them as quietly as possible.

 

Allura gave a sharp nod. After this _two-hour_ delay, they were whisked back to the Castle with the aforementioned clothes and weapons inside of _twenty minutes._

 

Shiro slammed the button to raise the Castle ramp with perhaps more force than was necessary. And then he swore a blue streak, impressive to Matt, who applauded once he was done.

 

“Nice summation of that farce,” Matt said grimly. “Now, it looks like we’ve got basic leather and cloth outerwear here — little to no armour.” He sifted through the accessories provided. “Hey, check out these guns.”

 

“Some of them carry _projectiles._ ” Coran sounded offended. “A few laser pistols. One decently powered laser rifle. How generous. But moreover, this tells us that 2657 is at Earth level technology, with perhaps a few exceptions. Such as whatever means Lance and Keith used to reach us.”

 

Shiro had already picked his choice of weapons (a long sword and small, easy to conceal pistol), and his clothes (a pair of black leather pants, a weathered blue shirt, a long dark grey duster). “Allura, we’ll use the Green Lion to get us down there — if you’re amenable to watching our backs from up here?”

 

She opened her mouth to protest, her eyes narrowing, but Coran put a hand on her shoulder, staring at her intently. Pidge recognized that look — that concern she’d seen mirrored on her father’s face more than once in the last few months.

 

“Your expertise is needed on this Castle, especially if the hostile population gives us … resistance to our rescue of Lance and Keith. You’re our eyes in the sky,” Coran finished with a smile.

 

Allura smiled in return, reluctance still evident in her narrowed eyes, but she nodded her acceptance.

 

Hunk fumbled with his own choices of pants and guns. “Coran, you’re coming down with us?”

 

“Yes, and so I would request that someone —”

 

“I’ll stay behind with Allura,” Sam said, handing Pidge a jacket in her size. She grinned up at her father as he explained, with an answering grin, “I’m not much use in a fight, but I can calibrate at nearly the same rate as these computers. You’ll have a guaranteed instant extraction, if needed.”

 

“So everyone else,” Hunk continued, glancing at Shiro, Pidge, Coran, and Matt. “We good to go?” He sounded both uncertain and impatient. Pidge could relate. The information she’d hacked free of the Jacomir servers … it had unsettled her. A lot.

 

“We can plan more once we’re down there and know exactly what we’re dealing with,” Shiro confirmed, clapping a hand on Hunk’s shoulder. “Okay — everybody get suited up and meet at the Green Lion in five.”

 

Three minutes later, they were all crammed into Pidge’s Lion, who purred in excitement on behalf of her brethren, eager to retrieve their Paladins. Pidge laughed, her fear overwhelmed by her Lion’s giddy anticipation.

 

“Pidge, find us somewhere secluded, but as close to civilization as you can without giving us away.”

 

“On it,” Pidge said, holding back a happy noise as they breached the shield with no problems. Pidge took some quick scans of it; her Lion helpfully displayed the information on a screen as she simultaneously mapped out the terrain that they flew over.

 

“All right, sis, what intel did you, ah, _liberate_ from Jacomir?” Matt asked, leaning against her pilot’s chair. “Only reason dad and I didn’t try is because we knew you’d have it covered.”

 

“And I did,” Pidge said proudly. Then she sagged in her seat, a bitter taste in her mouth as she explained the prison system that Jacomir initiated after a two-decade long planetary civil war — a system that was later adopted by eleven other nearby planets.

 

“Some of these other planets offer exile as a choice,” Pidge elaborated, frowning. “Others … no choice involved. Jacomir started off as the former and has slowly shifted to the latter. What’s worse is they’re _making a profit._ Other planetary governments pay them a fee to keep that shield up and transport their criminals down to that place. It’s … really revolting.”

 

“That’s the kindest way to say it,” Allura said over the Green Lion's comm unit. “We may be losing contact for a time — there is no network for communications on this world, it seems. I'll try to move the Castle into a better position. The Castle's network should sync to your computers when I'm close enough. Are you sure you don’t want me down there?”

 

“Allura, we need you to get the Castle’s defenses ready, and be set for a quick getaway,” Shiro reiterated. "One of us will send a message as soon as communications are functional again."  

 

"Right then … Bring them home, Coran, Paladins." 

 

"Yes, ma'am." Shiro pointed at one of the screens. “This canyon — there’s a few rock formations we can use as cover while we exit Green. And there look to be a couple of settlements … and a _city._ That seems as good a place as any to start? Unless you’re getting readings from their suits?”

 

“No, nothing,” Pidge groused. “But it’s been months. Those tracking devices might be severely weakened. According to my intel, prisoners are either left stranded in the desert here, or delivered directly to a place called _Whiero City_ — probably that city there _._ ” Pidge glanced at her brother and Shiro over her shoulder.

 

Shiro sighed heavily at her questioning look. “Red and Blue sense Lance and Keith around here, but not consistently enough to get precise coordinates.”

 

Matt nodded, his voice cracking with sadness that wasn’t his own, “Blue is especially worried since their bond isn’t what it was …”

 

Shiro scrubbed at his face with his metal hand. “Yeah, Red’s extra unhappy that she can’t get a solid read on Keith … But at least we have a set search area, for whatever the hell that’s worth.”

 

Pidge restrained her own bout of swearing — she wanted this to be _easy,_ simply because the last eleven months had been so _fucking_ hard …

 

“So we just … land and look around? That’s our plan right now? Maybe try and pass as new arrivals …” Pidge deliberated out loud, knowing that their options were limited, but wanting to hear everyone’s approval.

 

If the Lions had been getting a direct line to their Paladins, they would have let Red and Blue loose, let them lead the search for Lance and Keith. But again, it seemed the Lions had no specific notion of where the missing Paladins were (Pidge had to stop the cold, rational area of her mind from analyzing _why_ that might be). Furthermore, if the Red and Blue Paladins were in some kind of tight spot, a delicately balanced situation … Two giant robotic Lions might pull the pin on it; Pidge would not be able to cope with them _dying_ when they were _so close …_

 

As she brought Green down for a landing, invisible to any curious eyes, she flicked her gaze over to her scans. Her Lion settled in-between two large rock pillars, further concealed just in case anybody was around to see them appear seemingly from thin air. Pidge felt her hands shake as she released the controls. Green’s warm, organic presence in her mind helped, but nevertheless, her voice wavered as she said, “Shiro, the canyon, it … There’s a lot of biological material down there. The … no-longer-alive kind." She didn’t need or want to elaborate further.

 

Matt pulled her up from her pilot’s chair, an arm around her back tugging her in close. “I was reading that on the way down … We know they’re alive, Katie. It isn’t worth dwelling on, okay?”

 

Pidge held her tongue about the fact that it had taken a signal from this planet _two weeks_ to reach them — fourteen days was a long, _long_ time. Jacomir had received information about an _uprising,_ and if people weren’t allowed to _leave,_ then they certainly weren’t allowed to send transmissions out beyond the planet surface.

 

“Hey, you’re doing that thing where you mind goes a million miles an hour,” Shiro interrupted her thoughts, crouching down in front of her. Pidge startled — she hadn’t even noticed him moving. “Pidge, we all need to be on our A-game. Focus on the next part of the mission.”

 

“You mean walking out into that desert? I think I can manage,” she replied, ducking as Shiro punched her lightly in the shoulder.

 

“Right. Hunk, you ready to —”

 

“ _Born_ ready. Seriously, if we don’t have Lance back inside of an hour, I will be severely disappointed in myself — I’ll enforce a _no baking_ rule as my penance,” Hunk offered, sounding more excited and fearful than Pidge had ever heard from him.

 

“I think you _not_ baking is more of a punishment for the rest of us,” Matt said sadly. “Can you renegotiate terms with yourself?” He gave Hunk a pat on the back as they headed towards the ramp and the desert beyond. The Yellow Paladin flashed a quick grin, but it was swiftly overcome by his anxiety — Pidge walked a little closer to Hunk, wanting to help him out, and also, seek a little grounding herself.

 

“Hey, last time I made muffins, you guys did _not_ give them the …”

 

They stepped out of the Lion, Hunk’s reply halted by their view of the seemingly never-ending desert. It had Earth-like elements in the flora (cacti, similar to saguaros, though shaped like giant bushes), and the fauna (a few lizards that were _seriously creepy looking_ and a couple of rodent-like scavengers). Pidge set her computer to scan anything and everything for later inclusion in her universal encyclopedia project.

 

Her computer compiled data as they walked, hands on their weapons. Pidge had every confidence she could fire these two pistol blasters on her hips with accuracy (their training this past year had included becoming familiar with all common weapon types), but she felt incomplete without her bayard, like missing a limb. Allura had their Paladin weapons and armour safe on the Castle, but Pidge could feel her weapon calling her, a quieter, subtler pull than that of her Lion.

 

“I … wouldn’t recommend getting near the canyon edge,” Shiro said, standing at the top of what looked like a severe drop. “Pidge, your readings were spot on, as usual. Just … all of you, stay back.” Shiro’s voice was stern, and when he turned back to face them, his eyes were dark, his jaw clenched.

 

Pidge had no desire to defy this order.

 

They walked towards the city, (Pidge’s scans had provided a rough map to Whiero), silently vigilant. The heat permeated the air, dry and unrelenting. Pidge knew Shiro carried some water bottles in his jacket, and she had her own small flask of cold juice, but they would need more soon, amongst other rations, if … if this search dragged on for a longer time.

 

They had only been traveling for an hour when they spotted Whiero City on the horizon.

 

Along with a big hovertruck heading their way.

 

“Get to cover,” Shiro ordered.

 

Several large rocks concealed them, but Pidge was fairly certain they’d been seen. When the vehicle pulled up roughly six metres away from her hiding spot, her computer told her the approaching two figures were somewhat humanoid — one had four arms — and _large._

“We know you’re here,” came a sibilant voice. “Our boss told us you were coming. So why don’t you come on out?”

 

Pidge looked over to Shiro and Hunk, crouched down across from her. Shiro had his hand on his pistol. But the next move came from Coran, who put a hand on her shoulder, silently instructing her to stay, as he emerged from behind the rock, his own gun gripped loosely in one hand.

 

“What, exactly does your boss know?” Coran asked neutrally. “Why should we listen to anything you have to say?”

 

She stared at Coran’s slightly hunched over posture, his face that showed not even a _hint_ of his jovial nature … Once again, that low, angry undertone Pidge could _feel_ even if she couldn’t precisely hear it.

 

Shiro emerged next, giving quick hand signals to Hunk, Pidge, and Matt — _stay down._ His flesh hand rested on his sword hilt. “We’re not interested in getting involved with you or your superior. Just completing our mission and leaving.”

 

“Noted,” another voice said, this one smooth and clear. “But perhaps you’re not in possession of all the facts. We can enlighten you, make your mission easier.”

 

“Who is your leader?” Coran's voice dropped and his gun rose. “You’re playing games right now. We do not have time for them.”

 

“Keegin Dras,” said the commanding, soft voice. “And she is willing to point you _exactly_ in the direction of your lost comrades.”

 

Pidge pulled away from Matt, stepping out to stand just behind Coran. She had one of her own guns out, her eyes taking in as much detail as possible — the four-armed alien had orange scales and something like a snout for his mouth and nose. He carried a scoped rifle comfortably and pointed halfway between the ground and them.

 

The other alien sent a chill up her spine, though she couldn’t quite say why. He was very tall, his lean musculature emphasized by his form-fitting leather clothes and few pieces of armour. His rough skin was vivid green, his gray hair pulled back severely from his face. Those eyes, oddly high-set, were a colour Pidge couldn’t describe — only that they were opaque, unreadable … if there was anything to read in the first place _._

Her gaze dropped to his weapons, long knifes with serrated edges …

 

“Why would Keegin Dras help us?” Shiro clenched and unclenched the fingers of his metal hand, his head tilted in question.

 

“Because she wishes to preserve the balance of this world — and your cohorts are _disrupting_ it.” Akros emphasized the word not with anger, only with a more precise pronunciation.

 

Pidge didn’t trust him.

 

She could see that neither did Hunk. Shiro, Coran, and Matt all kept their faces carefully expressionless, but she knew them — even this darker, sharper Coran — and not a single one believed this person wholly and completely.

 

But hitching a ride into the city wasn’t too bad of an idea, if only to get there faster.

 

Shiro and Coran seemed to come to that same conclusion. Shiro made a quick gesture, and then Hunk and Matt both emerged. The four-armed alien jerked at this, snarling slightly. The other alien had no visible reaction.

 

“We’ll take you to her,” the leader said, gesturing towards the hovertruck.

 

They all piled in slowly, their weapons now all drawn, fingers on triggers. Pidge ended up next to Hunk, who glanced down at her, the fear in his eyes obvious, but his mouth set in a grim line. She gave him a similar expression back and nodded her head towards his gun —  _be ready for anything._

When they pulled into Whiero City, Pidge instantly wanted to leave. She would have marched straight back out to the desert if it wasn’t for the fact that, statistically, the place with highest concentration of beings was the most logical location to start looking for Lance and Keith, and that these two aliens seemed to know where Lance and Keith were …

 

She watched as children scrambled around the swiftly moving vehicles, some of the kids holding sharp knives in tiny fists and threatening passers-by with hoarse, desperate voices. An old man lay against a building, eagerly consuming what looked like _garbage._ Except for the sickly, elderly, and the few _corpses_ Pidge had seen in quick flashes … _everyone_ seemed dangerous. She tightened her grip on her weapon.

 

They ended up in what seemed like the heart of the city, before the largest, tallest skyscraper.

 

“Now, before we proceed upstairs —” The lead alien turned to speak to them through the back window of the truck cab.

 

An explosion ended that conversation before it could begin.

 

The hovertruck launched into the air, landing on its side and skidding — Pidge grasped the side instinctually, holding tight, eyes shut, as smoke and debris filled the street. She landed awkwardly, arms pinned beneath her own weight when the truck crashed into a building across the street from that skyscraper; she jumped up, gritting her teeth against the pain of fresh scraps and bruises, clutching her two pistols and immediately looking for the others.

 

Matt and Shiro had been thrown somewhere to her left, ducking down beside a flipped over hoverspeeder, weapons at the ready. Hunk, Coran, and the two aliens were on or in the truck at her right. Hunk pushed himself onto his knees, throwing up at Pidge’s feet, which she ignored since, as expected, Hunk didn’t let his motion sickness prevent him from surging up, large laser rifle at the ready, wiping his mouth quickly on his leather-clad shoulder.

 

Out from the smoking, destroyed remains of the skyscraper’s ground floor came a huge gang, guns blazing, firing at the ensuing rush of enormous thugs. This second group seemed to either be their rivals or simply eager and ready to shoot at anything that disrupted their daily routine.

 

Pidge held back because, based on what she knew about this planet, _she had no idea which side was right._ Or even if either of them had a good justification. Shiro and Matt seemed to be struggling with the same; they all used the overturned vehicles as cover, but Pidge kept her head up, observing the explosives-wielding gang — all long leather coats, bandanas covering half their faces, and even some _cowboy hats_ — running out into the street. Two of the larger members were dragging a screaming alien between them.

 

They dashed down the chaotic main road, weaving between laser blasts and bullets, firing openly — beggars and street children had rushed off to hide in alleyways or behind vehicles, a couple joining Shiro and Matt, crouching down and covering their heads. A few were lying prone in the streets, curled up to avoid getting trampled. Pidge saw one child, her bright orange hair a beacon, right in the path of three battling brutes.

 

She ran out from behind her cover, knocking one of the crooks down, the one holding a shotgun, and then grabbed the girl around her waist, heaving the tiny alien out from the pandemonium.

 

Pidge glanced up as the first gang reached their getaway cars and trucks, far too close to her exposed position, and then she saw it.

 

A flash of blue eyes beneath a dark brown cowboy hat, above a bright red bandana.

 

The blue-eyed cowboy grabbed the prisoner from the two big aliens, hauling the still-wailing victim up and into the back of a beat-up hovertruck. He threw the captive down, then fluidly lifted up his two pistols, firing into the seething crowd that had grown exponentially in the last few seconds. He hit at least five or six, and Pidge could see them go down, blood spraying from their faces, chunks of brain matter and skull — headshots, one and all. Dead.

 

And then this cowboy’s fellow gang members launched several grenades into their rivals’ midst.

 

Pidge screamed at everyone, _anyone_ who could hear her, _“Grenades! Cover!”_ She was already running to Matt and Shiro, their hovercar barrier closest, the easiest to tumble towards. Shiro grabbed both her and the child, tossing them between him and Matt — they both shielded her and her precious cargo.

 

The grenades went off, nearly as deafening as the initial massive detonation.

 

The child pried herself out of Pidge’s embrace as soon as silence fell. She ran into the nearest alley, never looking back. Pidge hated that she couldn’t make sure the little girl was all right, because right then, she had to tell Matt, tell Shiro, “We need to go after them, _right now._ ”

 

Shiro was checking over both her and Matt, his hands seeking out injuries that his eyes perhaps couldn’t see. “Pidge, we’re not getting involved in whatever —" 

 

 _“Shiro!”_ Pidge grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to focus completely on her. “ _I saw Lance._ ”

 

“Lance, where?!” Hunk came careening towards them, Coran next to him with his gun in a white-knuckled grip.

 

Pidge let Matt do his own survey of potential damage, her mind lost in the brutality of what she’d just seen. What Lance had been a part of. “He was with those guys, the ones that just … They’re heading out to the desert, and if we don’t move, _now,_ we’re going to _lose them._ ”

 

“Okay, Pidge, we got it,” Shiro said, standing up and quickly scrutinizing Hunk and Coran. Once he seemed satisfied that they weren’t severely wounded, he asked, “Our escorts, they alive?”

 

“Unconscious, and therefore of little use,” Coran said unsympathetically. “And might I say that I wasn’t going to trust them to lead us anywhere but straight into a trap.”

 

“I got the same feeling,” Matt agreed. “But they were useful in getting us to the city … Except, now we need to get the hell out of dodge.”

 

Shiro glanced towards the two shadowy shapes of the unconscious aliens. “We need to grab some kind of —"

 

“Shall we use this speeder here?” Coran patted the overturned car they’d been using as cover. “It seems intact.”

 

They all pushed, flipping the hovercar upright. Hunk dove into the driver’s seat, removing the panel beneath the steering wheel, hotwiring it in under five seconds. The sound of the engine revving had them all piling in and taking off with hardly a glance back at the disaster area.

 

They spotted the gang in the distance — they were kicking up gigantic clouds dust with their vehicles so close together.

 

“I think they’re heading towards another town. It was ...” Pidge glanced towards her computer, bringing up the intel she’d hacked out of the Jacomir servers. “It was listed as ‘Dagos’ — smallest of the nearby settlements.”

 

Hunk was already driving as quickly as the hovercar would go, but somehow he managed to coax a little burst from it, pushing them the slightest bit faster. “I … Pidge, where … Lance was with these guys?”

 

“Yes,” she said, her certainty conveying her own fears of what that might mean. “He was front and centre, helping them with that person they were kidnapping … He killed people back there. Didn’t even flinch.”

 

“But you know it was him?” Shiro sounded disturbed and the slightest bit disbelieving. “Pidge —"

 

“I’d know those eyes anywhere.” She almost wanted to apologize for being so sure. “Lance and Keith are the only humans out here. Once I saw the eyes … There are other humanoids, but … Shiro, it’s _him._ ”

 

“Well, to survive here, for this long …” Coran put a hand on Pidge’s shoulder from his seat in the back. “Certain compromises had to be made, I’m sure. Deals struck.”

 

Hunk’s hands gripped the wheel tighter. “Right. Lance probably _has to_ do this stuff or face some dire consequences. Maybe he and Keith were press-ganged, or, like, indentured by a mob boss? I don’t care, I just want them back. And now we know Lance, at least, is not only alive but also kicking. So there’s that.”

 

They all fell silent as they followed the billowing trail of dust towards Dagos. It took an hour, but they eventually made it to the border of Dagos — which wasn’t much of a border. A tall fence seemed to have been thrown up haphazardly, made of wooden and metal scraps. The only way in was a gated entrance that wasn’t guarded, as far as they could see.

 

They drove through cautiously, sluggishly enough to get a good look at all the buildings — worn down, but some were well kept, and there were plenty of folks mingling, going about their business as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. And maybe nothing was. Maybe this was a normal day on 2657-AbbDn. Pidge noticed that many heads turned in their direction — many hands, claws, and paws dropped to grip the guns and knives they all seemed to be sporting.

 

No one spoke a word to them, relaxing once the hovercar passed them by. Pidge catalogued all these things, considering that there were relatively stable communities here, albeit probably operating under different definitions of the words _stable_ and _community_. But all the same, it wasn’t the total abject chaos she has been mentally preparing herself for.

 

Then she spotted a familiar truck — the one that Lance had been standing in the back of as he’d fired into the crowd.

 

“Those are the ones.” Pidge pointed at a line of vehicles parked in front of a three-storey building.

 

Hunk pulled up and they all got out, hands echoing everyone they’d seen as they drove in — gripping their pistols and blades.

 

As they approached the door, it swung open to reveal a young alien woman with a shotgun. She had blue skin, and she glared at them from beneath disheveled, thick dark purple hair. Pidge noted the two missing fingers, and watched as a pair of silver eyes widened.

 

“You’re … you’re like Lance. And Keith.”

 

Hunk let out a sound, desperate and high-pitched. Pidge staggered forward but reigned herself in as the woman pointed a shotgun her way.

 

“We’re here to take them home.” Shiro spoke so calmly, the kind of calm Pidge was sure _none of them felt_. However, he obviously recognized a potential ally who he didn’t want to offend. The familiar way she’d said Lance and Keith’s names, how she was surprised at their appearance without a hint of malice, it all spoke volumes to Pidge, and clearly to Shiro as well.

 

The girl hesitated but then set her jaw. “If you are who you claim, then you’ll have no problems surrendering your weapons.”

 

“That seems unreasonable considering the state of this world,” Coran said with far more warmth in his tone than when he’d been speaking to Keegin Dras’ men. “How about a compromise? We surrender our guns, but not our swords or daggers.”

 

She raised her eyebrows. “Hm … All right. If Lance doesn’t recognize you, I’ll be the first to shoot you full of holes.”

 

“Noted.” Coran smiled as he unholstered his gun. “Where shall we put these?”

 

Without taking her eyes off them, the girl called out, “Wesdru! Lend me a hand!” The alien woman stepped aside as another female emerged, this one massive, muscled, red-scaled, and missing an eye.

 

Pidge swallowed dryly but stood strong as a sharp-toothed grin was shot their way. This alien leaned by the door, clearly having heard the conversation as she held out a clawed hand. “Right, nice and easy, folks. Guns over here, and then make your way inside.”

 

The blue-skinned woman stood to one side, her shotgun aimed at their heads as they turned over their guns. Pidge was the second one to enter, after Coran. She stepped into the shade of the building — a bar? With two storeys of living quarters above it? Or some kind of inn? This lent credence to the theory of established communities, but to have inns and bars meant perhaps an economy and advanced trade and … She forced her mind to quiet its nonsensical thoughts, instead studying all the faces before her.

 

Not a single one was Lance, but she kept carefully taking in the scarred, disfigured set of ruffians who glared her way, their weapons at the ready.

 

When everyone was inside, another tall alien approached Pidge and the others, while Wesdru and the as-yet-unnamed alien woman stayed at their backs with their guns pointed at Pidge and the other members of her team. This new alien stepped out from behind the bar, and she immediately noted that he appeared older than most they’d seen. He was green-skinned, had six arms, and was brawny and intimidating, despite his kind face and voice.

 

“My name is Yathir and you are most welcome here, if you aren’t lying about your identities.”

 

“Yathir, I’m Shiro, and we’re Lance and Keith’s family.” Shiro stood tall, proud, and offered his hand — his flesh one. Yathir tilted his head, his grey eyes studying all of them in turn. He took Shiro’s hand and shook it once.

 

A bunch of muttering broke out from the assembled crowd, seated at tables, leaning against walls. The blue-skinned girl suddenly moved out from behind them, dashing up the stairs without a word.

 

When Shiro withdrew his hand, Yathir smiled broadly. “I’m going to offer you some drinks in a moment. I’m inclined to believe you, but we need to know for certain … Brisha has gone to get —”

 

“ _Brisha, what are you even saying_ …”

 

As one, they all whipped their heads around, facing towards the stairs.

 

Over the course of these eleven months, Pidge had constructed all sorts of scenarios, tried to anticipate the varying situations in which Lance and Keith could be found. There had been stumbling upon them mid-battle with the Galra, saving them just barely in time, and their Lions whisking them away. There had been picking up their signal on a random planet, dropping down to find them kicked back on a beach, sipping bright coloured drinks and cracking jokes about how long they took. And in her darker, most despairing moments, she had pictured Blue and Red armour, rendered useless by cracks and holes, blood spilled on alien soil, and neither moving.

 

She had heard Shiro’s nightmares, joining him in imagining an arena, both Lance and Keith scarred and missing limbs, fighting each and every day for the chance to live until the next death match.

 

Then there had been what she considered the worst outcome: never knowing, no sign or hint of them ever again.

 

And now …

 

Pidge’s vision was already blurring, so she determinedly wiped at her eyes, angry at the tears that obstructed her sight.

 

The cowboy who came to a dead stop on the last step … He was taller than Pidge remembered Lance being. His muscles more pronounced, though he remained lithe and lanky. His eyes a deep blue, especially stand-out against his smooth light brown skin …

 

Which was now marred by a deep, fresh scar — the skin raw, flesh split apart over his left cheekbone in a jagged, uneven star outline, one of the rays extending out nearly to his nose, running beneath his left eye. Another crooked ray shot past the corner of that same eye, disappearing into his hairline. The centre of the star-shaped scar looked horrific, burned and missing a chunk of flesh.

 

Even as she became fixated on that mark, she registered the absolute shock as Lance (this was _Lance, after almost a year, Lance, breathing, standing, alive_ ) saw them, his gaze flicking about frantically. When he stared at Pidge, she _snapped._

 

She took off running, ignoring the sound of chairs scraping as aliens jumped to their feet, the clicks as guns were cocked — she leapt straight into Lance, wrapping her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.

 

Lance took a step back, nearly tripping, but Pidge’s grip kept him on his feet. His hands came down around her shoulders, squeezing lightly and then pulling her back, _hard._ She let him, staring up into his astounded expression.

 

His eyes were painfully wide as he scanned every inch of her once, twice — and then he breathed out, “ _Pidge?_ ”

 

She heard Hunk running, and she reluctantly gave up her place, shifting to one side just as Hunk reached Lance, wrapping him up and lifting him off his feet. Pidge was worried that Lance would break, but he seemed to go loose in Hunk’s embrace, his head dropping onto his best friend’s shoulder. That was when Pidge saw the trembling in Lance’s limbs, his limp arms shakily coming up to yank at Hunk’s shirt; she could just make out the way his jaw wobbled. When he finally pulled up his head to give Hunk the same close scrutiny he’d given Pidge, his face was dry, though his eyes gleamed.

 

“ _Hunk,_ how … I can’t … Fuck, put me down, buddy, I need to breathe …”

 

Hunk let Lance stand on his own two feet, gentle with him, his hands holding Lance’s shoulders, then running over his slightly longer hair (though it looked freshly cut? Pidge thought with a small, hysterical laugh in her own head; _of course, Lance would find a hairdresser on a freaking planet of murderers and thieves_ ).

 

Hunk stared at the scar, crying unashamedly. “Oh god, Lance, we’ve been … we’ve been searching for _so long_ …”

 

Lance looked around Hunk to Shiro, Coran, and Matt. His eyes widened impossibly further when they took in Pidge’s brother. One of his hands had come up to grasp one of Hunk’s, and he seemed to squeeze reflexively as he croaked, “Well, this is … not how I expected my day to go.”

 

Pidge’s mind helpfully reminded her, with surround-sound and Altean-level holographic realism, what Lance had been doing with his day thus far. But no, she put a stop to that as well — _not now, later, because Lance is here. Lance. Is. Here._

 

She chewed on her lower lip as first Shiro, and then Coran took Lance into their arms, clutching just as tightly as Hunk had. Lance paused when he got to Matt, who just grinned and stuck out a hand. “Nice to meet you, I’ve heard a _ton_ about the famous Blue Paladin from everyone, but especially Hunk and Blue.”

 

Lance jerked a bit at that, though he accepted Matt’s hand easily enough.

 

So intent was Pidge on Lance — on the way Shiro wiped the tears from his face after letting Lance go, and how Coran yanked Lance in once more, burying a hand in Lance’s hair, his eyes closed as Lance clung to him again — that she didn’t hear the slow steps behind her.

 

However, she glanced over her shoulder as a wooden stair creaked loudly enough to draw her attention away … To see Keith, his hair loose and messily falling over his shoulders, his uneven bangs failing to conceal his wide dark grey-indigo eyes, his mouth open noiselessly.

 

Somehow, Pidge didn’t make a sound as she took him in — as her gaze once again rigorously tracked the hint of a terrible burn scar, this one just peeking out from the wide, nearly off-the-shoulder collar of his loose blue shirt. She flew to her feet, reaching for him; his hands were roughly calloused as they grabbed her own smaller, but also weathered hands, drawing her into a hug, his face buried in her hair.

 

“ _Pidge,_ ” he whispered. “How … when …”

 

She tightened her grip, and Keith coughed, wincing as she withdrew instantly. She was apologizing without knowing why. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry …"  _Again_  with the crying. But as she heard Hunk start sobbing anew at the sight of Keith, as she turned to see Shiro stagger towards them, his face freshly streaked, she felt no shame for her tears. She had _earned_ this catharsis — _they all had_.

 

“ _Shiro,_ ” Keith rasped, and when he cried, it was silent, unlike Shiro’s quiet yet audible sobs, and Hunk’s near wailing.

 

Shiro folded Keith into his arms so carefully it took a few seconds to complete the embrace, to have Keith fully ensconced and tucked into Shiro’s chest. Keith shook harder than Lance had, his knees buckling. Shiro held him up, one hand coming up to stroke through the longer black hair.

 

“We never stopped looking, but …” Shiro’s voice kept cracking, breaking apart over his guilt. “Keith, we had to protect people, we couldn’t … I’m sorry, it was my fault … I’m sorry.”

 

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Keith said thickly. “It wasn’t anything other than our usual crap luck … Oh my god, you’re actually here … You found us. _You found us._ ”

 

Lance stood between Coran and Hunk, his eyes wet but no tears falling. Pidge’s heart twisted up, thrashing against her ribs. She was so happy, impossibly happy to have them back, but … Her observations told her a story that she didn’t want to believe, wasn’t _prepared_ to hear.

 

Yet her mouth proceeded without her permission to say, “How … Lance, Keith, what —”

 

Before she could finish her question, Lance stiffened suddenly, turning to speak to Yathir, his tone sharp. “Is Fregola taken care of?”

 

“Yes,” Yathir answered, his eyes studying Lance for a moment before glancing at the rest of them. “Perhaps you should focus instead on this situation.”

 

“And maybe the rest of us should leave,” Brisha said quietly. She offered up a small smile to Pidge. “I can’t wait to hear about Lance and Keith from all of you.”

 

Pidge grinned back, willing to answer any of Brisha’s questions, to provide all the embarrassing tales — if she could hear Lance’s annoyed squawking and whining again … She’d missed provoking him. Her grin faded as she wondered if she even _could_ provoke him anymore. Earlier, those eyes had seemed glacially cold, impenetrable …

 

“You have the right of it, Brisha.” Yathir straightened up and announced to the room at large. “Anyone that isn’t boarding here, move on — we’ll open up same time as usual tomorrow.”

 

Protests and cursing broke out, but Pidge noticed that no one opposed Yathir — they all stood up and lumbered out the door, some stopping to pay the barkeep with bright coloured gems. Pidge tilted her head, curious over the currency; she wandered over to get a closer look and scan them with her computer. Yathir let her before gathering them up and tucking them away somewhere she couldn’t see. Her computer provided her with their chemical breakdown, and they seemed to emit low energy fields — perhaps enough to power smaller devices? _Interesting._

A few gems were dropped in front of her. She blinked up at Lance, who let out a rasping laugh.

 

“One of each colour — run all the tests you like, Pidge.” His hand came up to brush over her hair … And tug on her ponytail. “Wow, you’re rocking this look, _chiquilla_. Never thought you’d let it get past your shoulders.”

 

Not since she’d found her brother and dad had Pidge been this emotionally wrecked. Tears sprung up into her eyes again, and she let Lance run his fingers through her longer hair, feeling her mood lighten at the twinkle in his gaze.

 

It took several minutes for the crowd to clear out, until only Brisha and Wesdru lingered. The taller and more intimidating of the two glared with her one eye, though her grin was friendlier than before. “We’ll be running the usual patrols then?”

 

Yathir nodded. “Same routes, but double up — Dras will be angry today. Might send some saboteurs or snipers just to make a point.”

 

Brisha holstered her shotgun at long last. “I’ll let Zan know to bulk up Denna’s security too, then. See you tomorrow morning?”

 

“Good night, Brisha,” Lance said, smiling at her. Pidge was surprised to see zero flirtatiousness in that expression. Brisha seemed just his type too (pretty and breathing), and Keith was right here to watch and get jealous. Unless … “Make sure Jorlack knows the job got done.”

 

“Right.” She waved cheerily at them all. “It was nice to meet all of you — we’ll chat more soon! Good night!”

 

Once she and Wesdru departed, a weighted silence permeated the inn. Yathir appeared to be indifferent to it, going about the business of closing up his bar. Lance leaned heavily against Hunk, and Keith still had one arm around Shiro.

 

No one moved until Lance spoke, “Keith, you’re about due for more med gel —”

 

“No, not unless you take some this time.” Keith glared him down.

 

Pidge held back a satisfied sigh at seeing this, at _hearing_ Lance and Keith, the same Lance and Keith as before, bickering and being unbearable. She might have sniffed; she disguised it by staring back down at her computer, studying the results of her scans. The gems seemed to be organic in some aspects — she was definitely going to bring a selection of them back to the Castle for more intensive examinations.

 

“Dude, not this again—” Lance started, but Keith cut him off with a piercing stare that softened as he turned to the others.

 

“How … How did you find us?” Keith seemed stunned each time he looked at them in turn.

 

“The signal,” Pidge told him, itching to ask about that scar she kept catching glimpses of. “Lance sent out a signal —”

 

Lance sat down on a barstool abruptly, his face losing colour. Hunk immediately sat down next to him, an arm pulling tightly on Lance’s shoulders. “Buddy, hey, you …”

 

“That … that got through to you?” Lance whispered, staring at nothing. “It … it worked.”

 

“It took approximately two weeks to travel at light-speed across the probes we’d stationed,” Coran told him, clearly filled with regret. “We couldn’t get them to work much faster, but the important part is that we’re here now.”

 

“Yeah, that’s all that matters,” Shiro agreed, drawing Keith in for a halfway hug. “And we can head out whenever …”

 

He trailed off, looking with confusion as both Lance and Keith stiffened. Pidge’s insides were doing all sorts of things that they shouldn’t be. Why did they seem _reluctant_?

 

“We can’t,” Lance said shortly. “We’ve made a mess here, and we can’t just … We have to fix it before we can leave.”

 

“What kind of mess? What’s going on?” Matt asked, his expression growing grim.

 

“We kinda pissed off someone important.” Keith disentangled himself from Shiro, walking past Coran and Matt to sit at Lance’s other side. He watched them all with a shadowed look Pidge couldn’t interpret. “And that important someone is making life hell for a lot of people now, not just us. We can’t cut and run.”

 

“ _Why_?” Hunk demanded, staring at Lance — at the scar. “This place is … I mean, I get it if you feel responsible for … whatever it is that happened. But everyone here seems to be capable of kicking all kinds of ass. I say let them sort it out, and we can get back to our _really crucial_ mission. Guys, seriously —”

 

“Hunk.” Lance sliced neatly through the Yellow Paladin’s words. “No. This isn’t up for debate. We can probably sync up our computers somehow, get communications working between us. You can hide out until we’re done, we’ll send a signal —”

 

“If you think we’re leaving you two _alone_ down here —” Shiro began.

 

 _“We’ve been alone for almost a fucking year!”_ Lance shouted, bursting from his seat.

 

The furious flare-up caught them all off guard — Pidge jerked back, Coran flinched, Matt’s hand reached for a dagger reflexively, Hunk nearly fell off his barstool … Keith just grit his teeth, his eyes entirely focused on Lance, and waited, though for what, Pidge didn’t know, her heart pounding a brutal beat in her chest.

 

That harsh stare of the cowboy with deadly aim was back, zeroed in on Shiro. Pidge’s mouth dropped open as Lance swept his arms out, nearly catching Hunk in the head. “ _This has been home for months, and we’re still alive, aren’t we?_ We can handle this. Get back to the Castle. Tell Allura we’re fine.”

 

“ _No._ ” Shiro stood toe-to-toe with Lance, his gaze unflinching. “We’re not leaving. Not without you. _Never again._ So whatever it is you need to get done? We’ll help. And then we’ll go _home, together_.”

 

Lance nearly matched Shiro in height. Their eyes locked in a fierce, silent argument. It ended when Keith stood up, his hand reaching for and then resting on Lance’s neck.

 

“Lance.” One word, and the tension eased from Lance’s frame, if only slightly. “Come on, I need your help with that medical gel. Let’s go upstairs.” Keith flicked his gaze about the room before settling on Yathir. Pidge had forgotten the barkeep was even there. “Yathir, I’m sorry to ask, but can … can they stay —”

 

“Keith, that is a given,” the alien said peacefully, his smile full of understanding. Pidge felt a flicker of annoyance, itching beneath her skin — this rough and strange person, talking to Keith with such effortless familiarity. However irrational it was, she couldn’t ease the envy, hating the discordance that vibrated through a bond Pidge had thought to be ironclad.

 

“Thank you,” Keith said, voice ladened with gratitude — and exhaustion. “Guys, we can … We can talk more later. Just give us a bit to regroup. Have something to eat. Yathir is a great cook.” Keith tossed Hunk a small smile. “He bakes up some mean pies, Hunk. You should get some recipes while we’re here.”

 

Lance remained silent as Keith pushed him towards the stairs. Pidge watched them until they disappeared from her sight.

 

 _What just happened?_ Her brain rushed to catalogue and organize every word, every reaction and physical tick. Lance and Keith … didn’t _want_ to be rescued? No, that was a ridiculous, erroneous assumption. Based on the evidence, Lance and Keith were hurting, had been hurt, and they felt responsible for some of the people here … Pidge understood this, and a part of her relaxed — that much was the same. They were still heroes, still the fierce, noble fighters she remembered, but … _More data._ She forced herself away from theorizing and rushed conclusions. _More data is needed._

 

“Yathir, is it?” Coran asked politely once Lance and Keith had retreated. “I don’t suppose you could shed a little light on this situation for us?”

 

Coran sat down on the barstool Lance had vacated, putting a consoling hand on Hunk’s back. Hunk accepted the comfort, though he seemed lost and wounded, his eyes shining with fresh tears. Pidge moved to sit next to Hunk, tilting into his side. Matt took the empty seat on her right, and Shiro … He stood off to their left, leaning against a wall just behind the bar, his eyes hooded as they watched Yathir’s hands wiping down the counter and drying freshly cleaned glasses.

 

“I would offer you information, but first tell me — did you receive word from Jacomir as you approached this planet?” Yathir sounded both forthright and pleasant, but Pidge knew every single person on this world had some kind of crime to their name — _numerous_ crimes, in fact, and violent more often than not.

 

She tried to scrutinize the six-armed alien closely, but she could only seem to gather a certain amount of biological information, and nothing about his character or his motivation … Only that Lance and Keith seemed to trust him. Seemed to like him. She decided to give Yathir a few more points in favour, based on that.

 

“We did, and we landed, thinking they would aid us in a safe retrieval of our missing family.” Coran smiled sardonically. “Not so much, we found. But we obtained some useful intel and supplies. And now we’re here.”

 

“How did you trace Lance and Keith to this place, specifically?” Yathir asked, two of his hands braced on the counter. “Did Jacomir know that much? Or did someone here guide you?”

 

“We met up with some people in the desert.” Matt crossed his arms and rested them on the bar, his own face fairly neutral. “They claimed to want to help, but we didn’t trust them — it seemed obvious that they had ulterior motives. They said they worked for someone named Keegin Dras.”

 

“Is that who Lance and Keith have made an enemy of?” Coran stroked his mustache. “Because I, too, had the feeling that they wanted something nefarious from us.”

 

“Probably to take you hostage.” Yathir stopped cleaning to pour a few drinks and slide them over.

 

It seemed to be a pink juice — Pidge scanned it to be safe, and then took a sip. Sweet and refreshing, vaguely citrus. She drank sporadically, paying close attention to the conversation, making a mental note of all the things she needed elaboration on … Right now, that was _everything._

“Keegin Dras is the unofficial warden of this prison,” Yathir explained, his uppermost arms crossing. “She’s been under the impression, apparently, that we are looking to oust her and seek some kind of unified rebellion. Which wasn’t the case, but I suppose her time down here has made her paranoid, for all that she thrives on the chaos.” He paused and glanced towards Shiro, who remained silent. “Lance and Keith pulled off an impressive heist, right under her nose. In the midst of that feat, they found her interstellar communication console … That signal you received. Which Dras interpreted as a call to arms.”

 

“I don’t suppose you’ve tried to tell her that she’s mistaken?” Coran asked dryly, taking a drink and smacking his lips afterwards, making a soft sound of approval.

 

“She didn’t give us an opportunity.” Yathir had a humourless smile on his face. “She struck out with a vengeance, and it’s been a back-and-forth exchange, escalating ever since.”

 

“The scar,” Hunk burst out abruptly, and then sucked in a deep breath, his shaking hands sloshing his juice about. “Sorry, but it looked fresh and … Lance, is he …”

 

“Lance and Keith are very resilient, though I will be honest and say that these last two weeks have been … exceptionally brutal. I don’t know how much more to say — they should be the ones to tell you the rest, I think,” Yathir finished. “As it stands, Keegin Dras is determined to see the ‘rebellion’ crushed, and life as usual restored. Ironically, her heavy-handedness is stoking the very fire she sought to smother.”

 

“How did you get to know Lance and Keith this well?” Shiro spoke at last, and Pidge didn’t know what to make of the undercurrent to his words. They seemed somewhat _accusatory_?

 

Yathir turned to face him fully, and Pidge saw a flash of something indiscernible cross his face. She was getting really, _really_ tired of missing out on things — a whole _eleven months, one week and six hours_ of experiences and trauma and fresh scars. She ground her teeth and stared harder than ever. Matt put a hand on her back, but she shrugged it off, her hands clutching the counter hard enough to dig her short nails into the wood.

 

“I met Lance and Keith shortly after they crashed here.” Yathir breathed in deeply. “They saved my life.”

 

Shiro didn’t crack a smile at that. “And then?”

 

“You should asked them,” Yathir said, measured. “But I think I know your meaning. They were already capable when I found them. And they only became more so. They live here, protected, and I give them food and whatever supplies I can get away with. They’re rather stubborn about accepting my gratitude — especially Keith.”

 

Pidge smiled slightly at that — more evidence that Lance and Keith hadn’t become completely unrecognizable.

 

Hunk snorted. “Zero surprise here. Keith could out-stubborn just about anyone. And thanks for looking out for them. That’s really cool, and also … pretty sure they would’ve had a way rougher time of it without you.” Hunk’s own smile was tentative but genuine. However, it faded as Shiro made a sharp, disbelieving noise.

 

“What they could’ve had is a way _easier_ time, is what I’m getting at,” Shiro threw out, angry.

 

“Shiro,” Matt interrupted. “That isn’t fair.”

 

“I can tell you’re one of the big names here,” Shiro continued on with even more vitriol. His whole frame shook, fury only partially restrained. “The way even the more dangerous looking people immediately listen to your words. The things you know. Your age. You’ve been here a while, and you can probably take on just about anyone.”

 

Coran stood up. “Shiro, please …”

 

“No, let him.” Yathir approached Shiro, all of his hands spread in supplication. “Go ahead, level your accusation.”

 

 _“Why didn’t you stop them?”_ Shiro all but shouted. He finally broke his posture, fists clenched at his sides, his eyes flashing. “You could’ve kept them here, _safe_ , and instead _… What did you let them do?”_

 

“I didn’t ‘let’ them,” Yathir spoke evenly. “They simply _did._ You imply I should have shielded them here? Hidden them from sight? Would they have allowed me to do so? Even if somehow I had managed that, do you not think that would have drawn the wrong kind of attention?” Yathir’s right hands suddenly all held a weapon each — a grenade and two wicked daggers.

 

Hunk jumped up, Pidge had her hand on her pistols, but Matt and Coran remained still.

 

Shiro’s metal arm was glowing, and he ground out his next words, “Whatever it took to keep them safe, _that’s what you should have done._ ”

 

“That’s what _I_ did,” Yathir said, tossing one dagger in the air and catching it in one of his left hands. “Here, anything guarded is assumed to have value, and that, for many, is an invitation. If Lance and Keith were taken by the _worst_ we have to offer, they would have been _killed._ But instead, I let them be, let everyone assume they were no more than the usual kind sent here. I gave them all the best information I had, and they _learned._ They _fought._ ”

 

“They _shouldn’t have had to,_ ” Shiro spat out, and Pidge … Pidge understood the pain in Shiro’s anger. But she also saw the logic in Yathir’s words.

 

“Wait, no one’s at fault here,” Matt stated calmly. “And Yathir’s right. Shiro, what you did for me — you saved my life. But after you were gone, I had to learn to fight, to survive without you. Lance and Keith had to live for a _year_ in this place …”

 

“We don’t yet have the full story, my boy.” Coran finally breached the distance, stepping between Yathir and Shiro. “But I do believe our host here is speaking nothing but truth. While I’m angry that Lance and Keith have been forced to —”

 

“Except _forced_ isn’t exactly … Lance killed those people today. ” Hunk said, his voice breaking on those last few words. “He did that on his own, right, Pidge?”

 

Pidge nodded, having already accepted that truth. She couldn’t see a way to soften that blow for Hunk, who appeared to just be coming to terms.

 

“He didn’t even look like … After some fights with the Galra, once he stopped crowing about his awesome shots or fancy maneuvers in Blue … he’d get really quiet. Stick real close to me and help me out with my designs … I caught him throwing up once …” Hunk swiped beneath his eyes with his index finger and thumb. “Is it as bad as I’m imagining? Like, I have a really over-active imagination, guys, you have no idea …”

 

No one answered. Pidge knew why.

 

Whatever Hunk was imagining, the reality was probably worse.

 

Yathir said nothing as he began serving up small plates of food. Coran gestured at Shiro to sit. “Let’s have dinner. In a tick, I’ll contact Allura — Pidge, Green is hooked into you computer, and can boost a signal to the Castle, correct?” She nodded, passing him her computer. Coran accepted it with a smile. “We’ll let her know we’ve found them. And that we may be here a while.”

 

Pidge kept her attention on Shiro as he followed Coran’s advice. He began to eat, mechanical in his motions, and a thousand yard stare on his face. He got that way sometimes, when his mind dragged him off to the dark corners where his broken memories lived.

 

Matt nudged her. “Hey, eat. You need sustenance if you’re gonna grow up to be big and strong.”

 

She elbowed him, and he chuckled a bit. Hunk made no noise as he ate, and once Pidge took a bite, she realized how out of it the Yellow Paladin must be — this was _delicious._ She took several more massive bites and then chewed sluggishly. She had no clue how to proceed. She had to wait for more information before she could formulate a strategy going forward.

 

However, an increasingly large section of her mind _didn’t want to know_. Her naturally inquisitive side bogged down in fear, in sadness … in a desperate yearning to go back in time because, apparently, fighting a war against a genocidal empire was far, far simpler than what they faced now.

 

****** 

_Part Two: Keith_

_First Day, Late Evening_

******

 

Keith breathed in deeply, exhaled slowly. He couldn’t fully process what had just happened, so he blanked his mind of it, existing only in this moment between him and Lance.

 

His side gave a faint twinge, and that felt good. Felt right in a way that nothing did. He was healing faster each day. Keith sat down on the bed, tossing his shirt off, waiting patiently as Lance washed his hands and then came back with the medical gel uncorked and ready to be applied.

 

Lance had left without saying good-bye that morning.

 

He hated how distance would sometimes suddenly spring up between them, but he knew that Lance was trying to meet him halfway — mostly because Lance was well aware that Keith would haul his ass across the remaining space if he didn’t.

 

He’d been unconscious for a week, and then awake only in brief bursts for a few days after that. He had finally managed to stay awake for several hours straight since the day before yesterday. Lance had been busy — leading battles without Keith at his side. Even feverish and incoherent, Keith had been able to argue with Lance, challenge him as always, and in severe desperation, _beg_ him to hold on and hold back … because Keith had heard from Brisha what Lance had been doing while he’d been bedridden.

 

And he knew better than anyone how, behind a chilling façade, Lance was breaking.

 

“Hey,” Lance murmured. “You gotta tell me if anything feels wrong, okay?” His hands glided tenderly over the healing burns on Keith’s back and side.

 

The area over his left ribs, both front and back, was pink and shiny — new skin having grown quickly, scarring far more minimally than expected, but still massive and obvious. Lance made a soft sound of apology as he hit the central and most tender point — Keith flinched, but only slightly. The gel Lance had stolen, under their doctor’s direction, had been a godsend and, along with several crates worth of antibiotics and disinfectants, had saved Keith’s life. This gel specifically allowed him to mend swiftly. Each day Keith woke up feeling a huge step closer to normal — his skin hardly pulled uncomfortably anymore, and the aches were present only when pressure applied.

 

The downside was that he still got tired fairly fast; the rapid rate of healing exhausted him, but that would hopefully be over within the next couple of days.

 

“Come over here.”

 

Keith turned to face him, leaning back on his arms as Lance carefully straddled his thighs, massaging the gel onto the scar tissue of his front left ribs and up to his collarbone.

 

When Lance went to reach for more gel, Keith sat up straight and stopped him with one hand. “No. Now you.”

 

“Keith —”

 

“I don’t care anymore, Lance,” Keith growled. “I’m not on death’s door. Your face … it must hurt. Please.”

 

Lance stared down at Keith’s wound, his gaze unfocused. “Is it that atrocious to look at? Get over it, because your injury might actually stop you from _fighting_ unless we —”

 

“Damn you if that’s what you think this is about.” Keith snatched the bottle away from Lance, tipping the last of the gel onto two of his fingers. “I don’t want you in pain. Stop with this stupid penance, and let me help. _I hate that you’re hurting._ And it’s _hurting me to watch._ ”

 

He held up his fingers right in front of Lance’s eyes.

 

After a minute of stubborn stillness, Lance’s eyelids fell shut, and he presented the left side of his face to Keith, his jaw visibly tightening. Keith sighed and began with the lightest touch he could. Lance twitched hard, but the muscles in his face loosened as Keith worked silently. He paused at the worst part of the scar — where flesh was missing right at the highest point of Lance’s cheekbone — and then massaged all the gel that remained onto that raw starburst.

 

Keith put the empty bottle on the nightstand, leaning right into Lance’s chest to do so, and when he reared back, Lance’s arms came up, draping around him and drawing him in by the shoulders, careful to keep his left side away as Keith’s skin absorbed the gel.

 

 _There you are._ Keith clutched at the back of Lance’s shirt. “So … they found us.”

 

Such pathetic words for this monumental event.

 

Lance snorted wetly into Keith’s neck. “Yeah, I saw.”

 

They sat in silence for a time. Keith replayed the moment he saw Pidge, her small body in his arms, longer hair tickling his skin. The sight of Shiro, tears marring his features, and the way his embrace had made Keith feel _safe_ for all of a second before he remembered that nothing was safe here. Coran, Hunk, Pidge’s brother — Allura somewhere in the sky — they were all _here_ and a weight settled in Keith’s chest as he realized that now there was more to lose. More at risk.

 

But _holy fucking hell,_ he and Lance had been _found._

 

“What … what are we going to do?” Keith breathed in deeply — the scent of smoke clung to Lance’s hair.

 

“We’re … going to stick with our plan,” Lance said. “We can’t just leave Brisha and Yathir to deal with this. It was our damn fault. Shit, I even feel bad about dragging Jorlack in.”

 

“Except that he was already on Dras’ hit list, so don’t.” Keith closed his eyes and kept taking in deep breaths, feeling the frantic pounding of Lance’s heart through his shirt and against his bare skin. “Do we let them help?”

 

“Could we stop them?” Lance pulled away, a sarcastic little smile on his face. “Could we ever stop you from running out of the Castle, half-cocked —”

 

“As if you never did the same?” Keith launched back, his hands sliding down to squeeze Lance’s hips. “But yeah, I see your point. We’ll talk to Yathir tomorrow, and figure out how to … adapt.”

 

Another bout of silence. Then Lance raised a hand to his eyes, and finally, _finally,_ a couple of tears emerged, though he wiped them away hurriedly. “They … I didn’t think we would see them again. After … After the bombs, I just …”

 

“You gave up.” Keith’s thumbs dipped beneath his waistband, drawing circles against the skin there, catching on a few older scars. “Yeah. I saw … Lance, I don’t blame you. No one does.”

 

Lance said nothing, and Keith made a mental note to address this again later. Now that he was back on his feet, he couldn’t let Lance get away with shoving this guilt down — more explosions, like the one with Shiro, would happen if they didn’t deal with this together. Or if Keith didn’t get Lance to acknowledge that he didn’t need to feel wholly responsible for every horrible thing that had happened since they robbed Keegin Dras.

 

“Glad you’re back all the way,” Lance mumbled, words cracking and spilling out jagged pieces of yearning and pain. “You saved my life when you woke up, but being able to talk to you like this … I needed you so badly.”

 

Keith’s heart skipped a beat, a wonderful, terrifying phenomenon he associated only with Lance, and he leaned in to take a kiss from cracked lips. He began drifting away, Lance’s hands coming up to cradle his face, his own hands seeking out brown hair and that soft spot near Lance’s ear, where his jawline began …

 

A soft knock on the door.

 

Lance laughed against Keith’s mouth. “I foresee many interruptions in our future.”

 

Keith grumbled wordlessly as Lance slid off Keith’s lap, sitting next to him once more, this time facing the door. Keith pulled his shirt back on before saying, “Yeah? You can come in.”

 

The door creaked open gradually, and there they all stood: Lance and Keith’s space family …

 

Pidge came into the room speedily to make way for the others. She backed up against the broken wardrobe, using the partially open door as her support.

 

Their bedroom felt smaller with everyone crowded inside, and it made Keith more than a little uncomfortable — for so long, this had been his and Lance’s. Their home. Only theirs. They’d taken this larger room, giving up their smaller two-bed space in lieu of this bigger, one-bed-plus-attached-bathroom living area, after their successful heist against Dreyulin. (Keith flushed suddenly — for some random, unknowable reason his brain was recalling the two days they’d spent locked in here, _“celebrating our one month anniversary, querido,”_ Lance had said, accompanied by that awful eyebrow wiggle.)

 

Keith cleared his throat, banishing those memories away (along with his blush), as he watched Matt Holt shut the door behind him, being the last one to enter. It was strange, seeing someone who so resembled Pidge, but with broader shoulders and without glasses somewhat obscuring those keen golden brown eyes. Keith had vague memories of Matt from Earth, training alongside Shiro for the Kerberos mission — they'd never interacted at the Garrison until then, and even after, they'd only met a handful of times ...  _This_ Matt bore almost no resemblance to that blurred memory of a skinny, cheerful nerd who chattered excitedly. Keith didn't meet his eyes — he didn't want to know what Matt saw in  _him_ now.

 

“So …” Lance drew out the word, his hand coming up to scratch at the back of his head. “I made things awkward. Sorry.”

 

Shiro stepped forward, shaking his head. “No, no, you’re right, Lance, and we — _I_ was jumping the gun. You two have been self-sufficient for eleven months and I showed up, assuming command … I’m sorry.”

 

“Your anger was valid,” Coran said, taking a seat next to Lance on the bed, venturing to put a hand on his shoulder. “I cannot fathom what the two of you have been through. For that, I am also —”

 

“Enough apologizing, please,” Keith cut in. “Can we just … be happy that you’re here?”

 

Hunk grinned brightly. “Hell yeah! Dude, _so freaking ecstatic_ we found you!” He dropped onto the bed on Keith’s side, fully embracing him. “Damn, you’re like … way more solid than you were before. And, um …” His eyes darted towards the edge of Keith’s massive scar, just visible with the low-cut collar of his shirt. “Real glad you’re alive, Keith. Like, a few cakes and several dozen cupcakes worth of happy.”

 

“That’s a lot of baking,” Keith said seriously, feeling his own smile grow. “Please make sure you get a ton of recipes from Yathir. You’re the only one who stands a chance at replicating them back” — he couldn’t quite bring himself to say _home_ — “on the Castle.”

 

“Which, I hate to bring up again …” Shiro kept his eyes on Lance, though his gaze flicked to Keith now and then. “But, why, exactly, can’t you both leave now?”

 

“It’s not _can’t,_ ” Keith corrected. “It’s _won’t._ Like Lance said, we … made someone mad. Keegin Dras, she —“

 

“Yathir told us a bit about her,” Pidge said, adjusting her glasses. “But he didn’t say exactly what you did — the word _heist_ came up?”

 

Lance perked up. “It was _epic,_ guys. _Mission Impossible_ level awesome. The first _Mission Impossible,_ not, like, the sequels, which were awesome, but not as —”

 

“We stole a good chunk of change from her.” Keith ignored the unimpressed stare from his right, paired with a huff of annoyance. “Lance found the communication system, used it to contact you all, and that’s what set her off, really.” He glared at Lance before anything else could be said. “It was a _damn amazing find,_ and _even if it hadn’t worked,_ we had to take that shot. If you hadn’t tried, then _I_ would have.”

 

That tormented flicker in Lance’s eyes didn’t fade, but he mustered up a half-smile for Keith, so he would take his small victory — this tiny indication that guilt wasn’t ruling over Lance completely _._

 

“Keegin Dras has been going after anyone who’s ever hired us for work — especially if they’re associated with Jorlack, another big boss she hates,” Lance picked up where Keith left off. “It’s been … tough.”

 

 _Brutal. Vicious._ Keith would never forget the Lance he had woken up to nearly a week ago — that hollow-eyed victim of war, encased in the steel shell of a cold killer. He recalled the vague nightmarish sensation of doubting his reality … until Lance had softened, wrapped his arms around Keith and all but buried himself in that embrace.

 

Glimpses of that dark creature continued to break through, even as Keith became more able to argue against Lance’s tactics, against his self-destruction; the words had been strange on his tongue, echoes of empty proverbs given to Keith by Shiro and other well-meaning people in the past. Now that he saw the reflection of his worst self in Lance, he truly understood what Shiro had been warning him against. 

 

“We’re responsible for most of that chaos — people are dying because of it,” Keith continued. “We can’t abandon them.”

 

“So what’s your plan?” Shiro asked. He now levelled a penetrating look towards Keith. “And how did what happened today feed into said plan?”

 

Keith squared his shoulders, his posture ramrod straight, even as his scar tissue, the new shiny skin within it, gave a warning pang. “We need information from inside Dras’ organization. We paid a few informants, but most were too scared to give us any solid intel. Few days ago, one of our own, he turned up some good info.”

 

Lance grimaced, his hands gripping the edge of their bed, knuckles turning white. “Real intel and a very real trap. Nearly didn’t make it out alive. But I did get some pretty valuable supplies out of the deal. Including some bombs —”

 

“Which you put to good use today, we saw,” Shiro interjected, but with no judgment in his tone — just a hint of weariness.

 

Lance’s eyes widened fractionally, and Keith slid a hand over to rest next to Lance’s on the border of their mattress. So the others had witnessed Lance in his battle mode; Keith didn’t know how to feel about that.

 

Shiro scratched his chin pensively. “Was that guy you grabbed — he the one that led you into the trap?”

 

“Yeah, pretty much.” Lance tilted his head towards Keith. “We all suspected that shit would go wrong. But the opportunity to strike at Dras, it was too good to pass up. The problem was … the other side knew things about us. Things they shouldn’t. And when shit went wrong, it went _really_ wrong. When we got back … Fregola, the bastard, was gone. That’s when we knew he’d double-crossed us.”

 

“Honour amongst thieves?” Matt suggested, raising an eyebrow.

 

“We’ve had people screw us over many times in this place,” Keith said to the older Holt sibling. “But this is different. This is a war, and lines are being drawn. Dras didn’t want a revolution, but she’s getting one now. Fucking self-fulfilling prophecy.”

 

“And Fregola is going to be a good little traitor again and screw over Dras as quickly as he fucked us over.” Lance’s teeth flashed in a violent grin. “Maybe we’ll get something solid out of him after all.”

 

A tense silence followed that statement, causing Lance to shrink back and adopt a vaguely rueful expression. Keith slid his hand over until skin met skin, trying to transmit all the reassurance he had through a single, barely-there touch.

 

Coran spoke up. “I assume there’s an overall strategy in this war? An end goal, so to speak?”

 

“Yeah,” Lance said. Here he locked eyes with Shiro, voice hard as granite even though his shoulders remained hunched inwards. “We take out Keegin Dras. We let Jacomir know that this planet is going to continue to be a fresh slice of hell that doesn’t need one of their _war criminals_ overseeing it. And then we leave.”

 

“Not going to reform an entire planet of murderers and thieves,” Keith elaborated, watching everyone’s reactions. “We just want to leave it as we found it.”

 

Shiro nodded, uncrossing his arms and extending a hand out to Lance. “Okay. If we follow your lead, would you let us help?”

 

Lance tossed an amused glance over at Keith, then back to Shiro. “If I said no, would it stop you?”

 

“No. So it’s probably better to be working together instead of tripping over each other on the battlefield,” Shiro said lightly. His smile almost reached his eyes. Almost.

 

“Then yeah.” He shook Shiro’s hand firmly, but soon dropped it, reaching up to scratch at the back of his head once more. “Except …” Lance hesitated, turning to look at Keith.

 

He nodded, albeit with a degree of uncertainty. Maybe this wasn’t their secret to tell, but if they couldn’t trust Shiro and the others to keep quiet, then … Keith didn’t want to consider the possibility of a universe in which he distrusted his Voltron teammates.

 

Lance nodded back and faced the others, his eyes jumping from person to person before landing on Shiro and holding there. “Yathir’s in charge, really. We’re just … a cover, in a manner of speaking, though we’re part of the decision-making process. I've been leading out in the field, and Keith too, now, but Yathir has the final word when it comes to the big plans.”

 

Shiro flinched — he tried to disguise it, but Keith knew him too well, even with almost a year’s distance between them. “I figured he had power. What makes him a better leader than the two of you?”

 

Lance chuckled a bit, dry and a touch bitter. “Well, he’s lived here most of his life. And he’s got experience not unlike Dras’. He might actually be a good brain to tap for our fight against the Galra …” Lance’s mouth twisted oddly around that last word. Keith knew why — the notion that they’d be fighting Galra again … It felt incredibly far away and strange.

 

“And why do you need to cover for him?” Shiro asked. Keith could almost feel the tension coming off of him.

 

Keith narrowed his eyes, watching the Black Paladin closely. Shiro’s reactions were understandable, to an extent — he’d always been protective of his teams, even as he shot up the ranks at the Garrison. It had increased exponentially with Voltron, but that level of protectiveness wouldn’t work on this world.

 

“Because,” Keith answered before Lance could, making sure his tone conveyed his absolute confidence in Yathir, “he asked us to, and his reasoning was solid. We’re bailing on this place, he’s not. Better the so-called ‘rebels’ be the pair of us — people who are _leaving._ And this is, literally, the _only thing_ he’s ever asked of us. He’s let us live with him, free of charge and _safe._ We’ve paid him here and there, but trust me, it’s nowhere near what we would owe him if he actually wanted to hold a debt over our heads.”

 

Shiro’s mouth formed a thin line, but he seemed to be accepting this. Keith wondered if he’d have to broach this subject with Shiro another time, and already felt frustration creeping up on him, the kind he felt whenever he faced something beyond his control — something he couldn’t just throw himself at, relying solely on his combat or piloting skills.

 

Shiro gestured towards the others. “Anybody object to this so far?”

 

“No,” Pidge was the first to speak. “Let’s do our Defenders of the Universe thing. Nobody left behind.”

 

“Here, here!” Hunk fist pumped. “Gonna kick some crime boss butt. Sounds pretty cool. No giant flagship or fleet seems slightly less stress inducing.”

 

Lance visibly winced, but said nothing, even smiled at his best friend as though everything were normal. Keith’s instincts shot a bolt of foreboding down his spine, his mind zipping along _worst-case scenarios,_ a well-worn path in his brain after months of _living_ said scenarios.

 

Matt and his sister exchanged some kind of silent communication before he said, “I’ll be here, helping you guys out, if you need me.”

 

“And so shall I,” Coran said seriously.

 

Keith suddenly longed for the more lively, funny Coran he remembered from a year ago. This grave Coran didn’t feel all that out of place here, setting Keith’s nerves on edge, and he was already pretty damn tense.

 

“In which case, maybe y’all should get some rest and eat —” Keith started, and Hunk snorted, covering his mouth quickly. Lance actually _giggled_ , high-fiving Hunk over Keith’s head.

 

Pidge grinned, joining in on the laughter. “Sorry, Keith, a bit of your Texas slipped there.”

 

“He never slips unless it’s on purpose,” Lance said gleefully. “Ah, you’ve just made my day, dude.”

 

“ _Anyway,_ like I was _saying,_ you _all_ should be getting food,” Keith pronounced deliberately, scowling at Lance, holding back a fond look only just.

 

“We’ve been fed, and Yathir’s already given us our rooms.” Matt gestured over his shoulder, sounding very grateful. “The food was the tastiest I’ve had since … Well, before space, let’s say.”

 

“Right?” Lance enthused. “And, ah, I guess I have to ask about you and —”

 

A knock on the door interrupted Lance, and Matt turned to open it. Yathir stood there, holding a tray with two plates filled with steaming food.

 

“Ah, I do apologize for interrupting —”

 

“We’re just talking about your amazing cooking abilities, Yathir, no worries,” Lance chirped, jumping up from the bed to grab the tray from the older alien. “Damn, is this the meatloaf thing from yesterday? _Score_. Also, tell me there’s still some pie? Please?”

 

“Not from yesterday, but there is a fresh one in the oven,” Yathir said, laughing when Lance pouted and then brightened in the space of a second. “I expect you’ll want me to wake you if you’re not up by dawn?”

 

“Yeah,” Keith said, nodding to everyone else; shame surfaced within his large pool of relief at finally having some relative _quiet_ — this was his _family,_ estranged for a year, and he already needed a break _._ “Sorry, guys, but we gotta get an early start tomorrow.”

 

“Not a problem.” Coran tapped his nose. “The early riser is the first to pick the _julikor's_ nest, as they say.”

 

“We can save the other questions for tomorrow then,” Lance said, shooting Matt an apologetic look.

 

Matt shook his head in response while offering up a conciliatory grin of his own.

 

Lance put the tray down on the nightstand, allowing Coran to stand up and move to follow Yathir, who was retreating back downstairs without a word. Lance sat next to Keith again, and waved awkwardly at the others. “Right, so, uh, we’re just gonna eat and then crash for the night, so …”

 

Shiro clapped a hand on Coran’s shoulder. “We’ll head to our rooms, then … Coran, can you —”

 

“Already contacted Allura after we ate.” He tossed Lance and Keith a wink. “She’s threatened various acts of violence of the anatomically impossible sort if we let anything happen to the pair of you. And if you two don’t ensure your own safe return to the Castle …”

 

“Well, we all know she can absolutely follow through on those threats, so I guess we have to come through,” Lance replied, a touch of awed disbelief underlying his words.

 

Keith could relate — this all felt like an out-of-body experience, like some sort of elaborate dream. Keith relaxed further as they all made to leave.

 

Except Hunk turned, lingering on the threshold, while the others waited for him. “Uh, so where’s your room, Lance? Or is this it? We could bunk together or …”

 

Lance blinked rapidly in surprise, and then he burst out laughing. Keith felt a smile growing on his face, wider and wider, and while he wasn’t as hysterical as Lance, he couldn’t hold back a few chuckles; the hand that had made its way to Lance’s thigh squeezed a bit before he slid it up to clasp Lance’s hand.

 

“Uh, sorry, Hunk, but this is _our_ room.” Keith laughed again when Hunk just gawked at them. Pidge had made a garbled noise, and Shiro stepped back in beside Hunk, his eyebrows up by his white bangs.

 

“Wait … Since when …” Shiro gaped at Keith’s smirk — Keith couldn’t get over how shocked everyone looked (well, except for Matt and Coran), and he found it nearly as hilarious as Lance did (who was still chortling periodically).

 

“We’ve been together since —”

 

“Oh no you don’t!” Lance burst out over Keith’s explanation, his mirth evident in every word. He flashed an exaggerated wink and announced, “We’ve been _engaged_ for about nine months. More accurately, nine months, two weeks, and —”

 

 _“Engaged?!”_ Hunk and Pidge squawked. Coran darted back over, loudly proclaiming his congratulations. Pidge came running into the room, wrapping Lance up in a hug, her arms around his neck.

 

“ _I_ _knew neither of you could hold out!_ All it took was getting him all by himself on a planet full of crooks.” Pidge glanced at Keith as Lance cracked up again, his own arms draped over Pidge’s back. “You broke after less than two months, Keith? I’m a little disappointed.”

 

“Except that _Keith_ _asked me_ ,” Lance said smugly, brightening even further when Coran released a giddy sound and clapped them both on the back.

 

“ _Holy crow,_ ” Hunk breathed out, rushing to snatch up their hands, frowning when he saw no rings. “Well, I guess there wouldn’t be jewellery shops around here. That’s definitely the first thing we’re doing when we get back — can I design them? Please? Unless, you have something —”

 

“Nah, buddy, that’s …” Lance seemed at a loss, swallowing before the sweetest, happiest smile Keith had seen in recent memory crossed his fiancé’s face. “That would be pretty amazing.”

 

“Not gonna lie, I’m pretty tempted to insert some kind of extra powerful tracking device in them, but, uh, we’ll leave that discussion for another day.” Hunk hugged them both before retreating.

 

Shiro stepped over to embrace Lance, and then Keith. He whispered, “ _Congratulations_ ,” into Keith's ear before pulling back to grin once more and exit after Hunk.

 

Pidge, Matt, and Coran were the last to go, though Pidge stopped to glance at them, her eyes bright and evaluating. She waved, finally, and closed the door behind her.

 

Keith sighed, scrubbing at his face with both hands. “Fucking hell. This day has been … I don’t even know.”

 

Lance swooped in to steal a kiss, and Keith grabbed his shirt collar to prevent him from breaking off too soon. More than being a sweet reprieve, this _grounded_ Keith — Lance’s lips, his hands braced on Keith’s thighs, the faint breaths; all the kind of real that Keith needed to get his mind back in order … So he could simply bask in the familiar warmth. When they did separate, Lance laughed into the minimal space between them.

 

“Getting to brag about my awesome fiancé was definitely the crowning moment. You can get in _your_ bragging tomorrow.” Lance squeaked when Keith poked at a ticklish spot in his side, and then Lance yawned abruptly, right in his face.

 

Keith yawned back, his eyes watering from exhaustion. “Brag about how I made _the best proposal_ ever, one that you could never top? On it. Tomorrow. Too tired now … Hey, pass the food over.”

 

Lance reached for the tray, placing it between them. Already his smile was fading. Keith regretted not being more energetic to keep the good vibes going. Lance ate methodically, and Keith tried to initiate light-hearted conversation, but to no avail.

 

Once the food was gone and they were curled up in bed together, Lance muttered, “I need to interrogate Fregola tomorrow.”

 

“ _We_ need to,” Keith amended quietly but with emphasis. “And yeah, what about it?”

 

“The others are here.” Lance turned over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

 

Keith could only sleep comfortably on his right side, so he stared at that handsome profile, including the ragged scar. When the silence dragged on, Keith reached over to rest a hand on his fiancé’s chest, sliding it up to his jaw and tenderly turning Lance’s head to face him again.

 

“Right. They’re here. We’ll work something out, and you don’t …” He wanted to say _you don’t have to sink so low if you don’t want to_ … But that was blatantly untrue. Both he and Lance would do _whatever it took_ to prise what they needed out of the traitor. Keith growled to himself, angry that he couldn’t find a way to shield Lance from this, but all he could think to say was, “Whatever we need to do — I’ll be right there with you. I’ve got your back.”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Lance whispered hoarsely, eyes closing. The moonlight cast the lines on his face in sharp relief; shadows he’d been carrying for two weeks of acting as sole leader of a revolution they’d never intended to spark. “Jorlack’s probably going to kill Fregola. If not him, then … ”

 

“I figure as much.” Keith shrugged one shoulder. “We can’t stop him. It’s his turf, his people that really came out losing on that run. And if it's Telliya … It would be her right. Actually, I'm sure Jorlack's going to let her be the one.”

 

“Do you think _they_ are going to understand that, though? We say this place has no rules, but there are some — unspoken rules that no one breaks, no one other than Dras …”

 

Keith’s hand swept upwards into Lance’s hair, running through the trimmed locks. One corner of his mouth quirked up as he remembered Zan wielding his scissors threateningly, forcing Lance to sit down; the haircut served as a decent excuse to keep Lance in one place for longer than five minutes, instead of constantly running himself into the ground with the no-holds-barred fighting and politicking (which usually ended in _more_ fighting).

 

He’d been silent for long enough for Lance to sink further into the mattress, rolling back over to his side, his mouth parting on a sleepy sigh.

 

Keith spoke very softly. “Dras is going to pay, sooner or later. The others agreed to follow our lead. Let’s just … accept that and sleep for now.”

 

“Yeah …” Barely more than a breath. “G’night, cariño.”

 

Keith leaned in, pressing a kiss to those parted lips, floating off towards slumber with his hand still in Lance’s hair, while Lance’s own fingers crept up towards Keith’s neck, resting on his pulse point like they’d done every night since Keith had come back to the land of the living.

 

****** 

_Part Three: Pidge_

_Second Day, Morning_

******

 

She woke up not sure where she was, groggy and confused by the lack of grey and white walls … But her neurons fired off bright bursts of memory, near perfect recollections of the day before, and Pidge was up and dressed inside of three minutes. She rushed to the communal bathroom and finished getting ready in there. Matt had still been sleeping, and she didn’t see Shiro, Hunk, or Coran as she made her way down the stairs, but she had heard their snores practically shaking the rafters in the hallway.

 

Lance, Yathir, and Keith were in quiet discussion, the sun’s light a fresh, pale orange glow within the inn. All conversing ceased as the stairs creaked beneath her weight. Lance's serious countenance faded as he grinned brightly, waving enthusiastically.

 

“Hey,” Keith called to her, nodding towards the bar. “Yathir’ll have breakfast ready in a few. We gotta head down to … deal with Fregola.”

 

“Not before you have something to eat,” Yathir chided. “The doctor said you need fuel for the healing process.”

 

Lance nudged him. “Eat your Wheaties, dude.”

 

Pidge noticed that Lance’s scar didn’t look nearly so bad as it had the day before. Whatever slimy gel Keith had applied, it had closed off the part where the flesh had been missing, though that off-kilter starburst remained. And possibly would always remain.

 

She frowned as she took a seat. “I’m coming with you. I want to know why he turned on you. And I —”

 

“Katie,” Matt said sternly, coming down the stairs fully dressed and armed. “I don’t think you should —”

 

 _No,_ Pidge was _not having it._

Less than half an hour later, Pidge held her breath as they descended the stairs into the cellar of Yathir’s inn, Lance and Keith leading the way. Matt was on one side of her, Shiro on the other. Hunk and Coran were still in the bar, getting a better lay of the land from Brisha and Wesdru. Yathir brought up the rear, and now, knowing that he was the real leader of this sort-of revolution, she paid closer attention to his grey eyes, how they scrutinized everything around him while his friendly demeanour stayed firmly in place.

 

Lance had said that Dras was a war criminal, and he'd also mentioned that Yathir had experience not unlike hers … Which meant that Yathir must have been one too — a high-ranking military man who had committed acts so horrible as to end up here. Therefore, while Lance and Keith trusted him, and Pidge’s instincts led her in that same direction, her rational mind maintained an observing eye on him.

 

But more important, at the moment, was the prisoner chained to a pillar, his long legs splayed out in front of him, his fear-filled gaze gleaming golden in the sliver of light coming from the open cellar doors.

 

“McClain, please, I — _Keith? You’re alive?_ ” Fregola had pale blue skin, huge gold-purple eyes, and yellow hair shaved on one side, the rest pulled back in an untidy braid. He stuttered a few more nonsensical words as Keith stared at him without saying anything.

 

Pidge had argued with Matt and Shiro about being here for this interrogation. She hated being treated as fragile simply because she was the youngest. After more than two years of fighting an evil empire that had no compunctions when it came to the wholesale slaughter of entire planets, she knew her own strength of mind. And she knew that _right here_ was where the _real_ information, the kind of data she needed, would be found.

 

Lance and Keith had said nothing during breakfast while Pidge had held her ground; she’d glared down her older brother by blood, her older brother by choice, and the man she viewed as a close uncle and mentor.

 

Now, she flinched hard as Keith walked around Fregola, bent down and _snapped_ his wrist without a word.

 

The scream that rent the air had no visible effect on anyone else. Pidge’s mouth went dry, and she forced herself to keep as still as possible; she’d picked her spot, standing off to the side, between Keith and Lance. Shiro stood opposite her, partially concealed in shadow, and Matt was somewhere behind her. Yathir had disappeared, but she couldn’t think to look for him right then.

 

“Good morning, Gol,” Lance said cheerfully, grabbing a rickety wooden chair from a dusty corner. He towed it to a metre or so from their prisoner, flipping it so the back faced Fregola. Lance straddled the chair, loosely resting his arms on the backrest. “Thanks for making sure he was awake, Keith.”

 

Keith said nothing, took a few steps to the side, just inside of Fregola’s peripheral vision … An intimidation tactic pulled off perfectly. Pidge ignored the wet whimpering from the blue-skinned alien and concentrated on Lance, who smiled brightly, an imitation of his happy-go-lucky grins back on the Castle … But the calculating look in his eyes gave that familiar grin a sinister edge.

 

“So, I’m going to ask you a couple of things, and if you answer them, I might be able to convince Jorlack that you’re worth keeping alive. Maybe.”

 

“Wh-what was I supposed to do?” came the creaky, crying voice of the male alien, his eyes leaking silvery tears down his face. “Dras has all the power, she —”

 

“Who is in front of you _right now_?” Lance asked, a hardness coming into his tone, unforgiving, belying his relaxed posture. “Fuck Dras and focus on _me._ Because maybe Keith and I decide we want to drag you over to Jorlack’s with a few more broken bones. Maybe we want to spend our day in here, with you, _breaking all of them._ ”

 

Before Fregola could plead or cry out, Keith darted back over behind him, and another wet crunch, this one fainter ( _a finger?_ Pidge’s brain suggested while the rest of her recoiled).

 

The whimpers shot up in pitch, soon dropping down to low moans. More tears poured down his face, and Lance waited for Keith to resume his position before speaking again.

 

“Now, you tell me what, _exactly,_ Dras got out of you, and how much you fucked us over. You have five minutes before Keith gets to break something else of yours. Or just smashes your head in.”

 

“Swear to me you won’t let Jorlack kill me!” Fregola yelped when Keith took a menacing step forward. “Please! I’ll tell you everything, just … Please, don’t let Jorlack kill me.”

 

Lance glanced over to Keith, and they held each other’s gazes for a solid minute — Keith gave a nearly imperceptible nod, and Lance’s jaw clenched momentarily before he looked back towards Fregola, his voice solemn as he said, “You won’t die by Jorlack’s hand, I swear it.”

 

Fregola breathed out a wordless sound of thanks and then began blabbing, “I just told her about the ambush strategy. The two cross snipers, and the way you use grenades as cover —”

 

“You didn’t just tell her our tactics — she knew _exactly who was there._ She knew everyone’s names, each and everyone of their sore spots — literally, in Grisner’s case, which was what got him _killed._ ” Lance’s voice cracked. He covered it with a growl, but Pidge heard the pain. This was someone Lance had known well, perhaps even called a friend. One of Keith’s hands, the one Fregola couldn’t see, formed a painfully tight-looking fist.

 

Pidge flicked her eyes up to Shiro … who seemed determinedly blank faced; his arms were behind his back, and he hadn’t moved since they first arrived. She had no clue what he was thinking, and normally she could glean something from his expressions or his stance … But _nothing._

She _hated_ this place and the way it affected her ability to read the people she knew best.

 

Fregola shook his head frantically. “I didn’t tell her those things! I mean, I mentioned who might show up, but I didn’t say anything about Grisner’s bad shoulder or —”

 

Lance held up a hand abruptly. “Fine, whatever. Then tell me what she told you.”

 

“I don’t … You mean if she spilled some of her secrets or something?”

 

“I know she’s not stupid enough to tell you her evil plans, Gol,” Lance said irritatedly. “So I need you to tell me _exactly_ what she said to you when she recruited your slimy, double-crossing ass.”

 

Fregola hesitated. “You said Jorlack won’t kill me?”

 

“I _swear_ Jorlack won’t kill you.” Lance stood up, kicking the chair aside casually, crouching down in front of the prisoner. “You know we McClains don’t go back on our word. Ever. Bad for business.”

 

The alien stalled for another few seconds. “Yeah … She, she sent Akros after me, in Whiero. He nabbed me while I was in the Powder District, cutting a deal. Brought me to the tower. She gave me dinner and a couple hundred gems, told me that you and Jorlack weren’t long for this world. That she was just stringing you along and when she got bored, she would _eradicate_ you all. Leave no trace. And if I helped her then maybe … there’d be fewer casualties.”

 

“And how many more gems did she offer you after that?” He leaned in, bracing himself on Fregola’s foot, bending it unnaturally. A yelp and several other sharp, pained noises escaped. “ _How many?_ ”

 

“ _Three hundred,_ ” Fregola wheezed. “But I wanted to make sure we had a shot at _living,_ Lance! She, she’s gonna murder us all, but if she could just … She just wants Jorlack to give up his power base, and for you to _work for her or just leave,_ why can’t you — before she _blasts us all_ —”

 

“Out of the kindness of your heart, you betrayed us?” Lance said flatly. “But not before you got your money.” Pidge could see that behind his eyes, his brain whirred — and Pidge herself worked out Fregola’s words.

 

_Eradicate? That’s a bold claim, and Keegin Dras doesn’t seem, from what little intel available, to be a braggart. Thus, she may have the means to do this. Yathir described her as the “warden” of this prison. Could she receive aid from Jacomir to curtail an uprising? They definitely seemed strictly opposed to anyone escaping … How much firepower would they be willing to implement?_

While Pidge’s gaze turned inward as she considered the possibilities, Lance stood up. “We’ll be heading out soon. Someone will bring you food and water before we go.”

 

“Who … who are these people?” Fregola asked tentatively, looking at Pidge, Matt, and Shiro for the first time, his fear somewhat reduced. “They … they look like you … are they —”

 

“Gol, you’ve lost the right to any answers, but sure — you’re looking at my family. They’re sticking around to help out and lemme tell you, the kind of firepower you _thought_ Dras had? _Nothing_ compared to what we can unleash. You should’ve _trusted me_. You _knew_ I had your back. Now? Now you have _nothing_ and _no one_.” Lance turned on his heel, apparently satisfied with this last word, but he stiffened as Fregola spoke again, this time low and sincere — and not to him.

 

“Keith … I’m glad you survived. Really.”

 

“Doesn’t mean much coming from you,” Keith said in a steady tone. “Considering that Grisner is dead, along with other _loyal_ allies. Enjoy your meal. I’ll have one of Wesdru’s people bring it down to you.”

 

Keith caught up to Lance, a hand brushing Lance’s ever so slightly. Pidge followed them, feeling her brother and Shiro at her back. Yathir appeared just as they reached the top, and she blinked at him, blurting out, “Where were you?”

 

Yathir laughed ( _wrong_ after what had just happened, what Lance and Keith had just done). “I’m not easily hidden, Pidge. I was right behind your leader — but my species can be very, very quiet when we choose to. Once you can’t sense another person’s breath or warmth, it becomes easy to fool the senses into thinking that person is no longer present.”

 

Pidge found that _fascinating._ The heaviness in her heart eased as she immediately locked onto the biological implications of Yathir’s words, letting her curiosity superimpose itself over the horribleness she had just witnessed. “You mean you can _stop breathing for a certain period of time_? And _disguise your body temperature?_ Lower it, or conceal it altogether? What about —”

 

Matt clapped a hand on her shoulder, and Pidge turned to glare at him, but he was grinning up at Yathir, his own eyes glinting with interest. “You were like a _statue,_ I basically forgot you were there, which makes me thing you might emit some kind of chemical not unlike the puff adders back on Earth who are virtually _scentless_ to most creatures —”

 

“ _Ay dios,_ there’s two of them,” Lance bemoaned, and Pidge didn’t know whether to be relieved or disturbed by his teasing smile, her science-induced enthusiasm fading as grim reality asserted itself once more; she refused to let herself sink too far into the beckoning darkness. Lance gestured at Pidge and Matt. “Shiro, how have you been dealing with this?”

 

“Actually, there’s _three_ of them,” Shiro corrected him, and his own smile was genuine, but again, not quite whole. “We found Sam Holt, too.”

 

“That’s fantastic, Pidge.” Keith put a hand on her other shoulder as they re-entered the first floor of the inn. “What’s the story behind all of that?”

 

Pidge smiled up at him, grateful for the added distraction, but Shiro beat her to the punch. She wrinkled her nose up at him, giving him an unimpressed look.

 

“Short version is Pidge was a monster when you first disappeared.” Shiro accepted the elbow to his gut with ease; he just tugged on her ponytail and continued without missing a beat. “While she virtually shredded the Galra prison system looking for you two, she found her dad. And once we found Sam, he led us to Matt —”

 

“I was with a rebel sect connected to the Blade of Marmora,” Matt stepped in, getting Keith to whirl around, blinking at him in shock. Lance let out an equally surprised, “ _No freaking way!”_

Matt nodded, flicking his bangs out his eyes as he went on, “They’d raided my prison a while back, freeing a few of their own — I got caught in the crossfire, so to speak, but it worked out in the end. They maintain secrecy by rarely communicating between cells. But Kolivan contacted my superiors once Coran told him about me, and it was an astonishingly quick reunion after that.”

 

“Yeah, loser, letting me do all the work,” Pidge complained, though she was grinning too widely for anyone to believe that she was actually annoyed. “Should’ve figured I would chase your sorry behind into space and hunt you down. Couldn’t you have made it _slightly_ easier?”

 

“Sorry I didn’t immediately associate you with the giant weapon of mass destruction that is Voltron, Katie.” He leaned against her, using her head as support. “And I was _expecting_ you, but I kept imagining my little sister, _all grown up —_ ”

 

“It’s not like you’re that much taller, jackass,” Pidge groused, sliding out from beneath his arm, causing him to stumble; she smirked, enjoying Lance’s amused snort and Keith’s wide smile.

 

The back-and-forth between harsh actuality and happy reunification was giving her a kind of exhausting emotional whiplash, but she didn’t know how to cope with it aside from just … being here, and taking in what she could. Letting her mind latch onto each and every positive occurrence, filing the others away for when she felt strong enough to analyze and draw conclusions.

 

While they’d been chatting, Yathir had been serving up the food Lance and Keith had promised Fregola, passing it on to someone who clearly answered to Wesdru — she waved her subordinate off from her lounging spot on a barstool. Afterwards, she tipped her head towards them. “Well, my Two McClains, how did you find our prisoner?”

 

“In one piece, so good job on holding your crew back,” Lance said, taking a seat next to her.

 

Despite the fact that Wesdru had at least a foot on him in height, and was twice his weight, he looked completely at ease by her side … With that scar on his face, the rough leather pants and long coat, the gun holsters peeking out as he slouched back onto the bar, stretching out his legs, crossing his boots at the ankles … Lance was every inch the mercenary cowboy.

 

Pidge understood the reality of this world, but that didn’t make facing it any easier.

 

Eleven months, one week and several hours had been too late to save the Red and Blue Paladins — but she still had Lance and Keith. And they could be Paladins again …

 

Her resolve against despair wavered, heart sinking again as echoes of the damp snap of bone played in her ears. Her eyes glanced over to Keith — and there was someone Pidge _might_ have expected to be ruthless in the face of all this, but somehow, Keith seemed only slightly rougher about the edges … Even so, she wanted to go back to a time when Keith would have _hesitated_ before _torturing_ someone. The ease with which he’d brutalized Fregola …

 

Neither Lance nor Keith had asked about their Lions. She had no idea where their armour or bayards were, or if those items had even survived the crash. They didn't seem in any hurry to reclaim their Paladin roles. 

 

Her gloomy thoughts were interrupted by Hunk, who came in from the back, laughing with Coran and Brisha, waving sunnily at them all. “I might’ve destroyed some of your targets, buddy,” Hunk told Lance. “Brisha gave me this, like, machine-gun …”

 

“Really, Brisha?” Lance shook his head, but he started laughing as well. “I should come down on you for wasting ammo, but first — tell me you kicked his ass.”

 

“Actually, Coran won the day,” Brisha announced, letting Coran accept applause from Wesdru, Lance, Keith, and a few other already semi-drunk patrons. “And I’m thoroughly impressed.”

 

“Been on the receiving end of a weapon too many times to not have learned how to give some of my own back, with interest.” Coran bowed and then winked at Wesdru, who chuckled and offered him the seat on her other side. He accepted it graciously. “And you have no small skill with your pistols — definitely a challenge.”

 

“I just mowed 'em down after,” Hunk said with a shrug and a giggle. “Man, there’s something really satisfying about projectile ammo. But, uh, I’m cool with laser guns. Not quite as messy.”

 

“I assume you retrieved what information you needed from your captive,” Coran said, and Pidge saw Hunk’s smile shrink and then disappear altogether. “What does that mean for our plans?”

 

“It means that we head to Jorlack’s in an hour or so — and if you’re coming with us, then you need to understand a few things.” Lance straightened up, sitting with his hands on his hip holsters, his cold eyes staring at each of them in turn. “That is not our turf — Hutton is pretty much Jorlack’s town, with the notable exception of Denna’s. That means whatever Jorlack says, _goes._ Keith and I? You might see us disagree with him on some stuff, but we have an _earned right_ to do so. You guys? You need to zip it unless spoken to, and you _do not_ intervene unless we signal you.”

 

Shiro squared his shoulders, military in his posture. “Right. Then, what’s the expected outcome here?”

 

Lance shifted around to look towards Yathir, who nodded twice and then went about serving drinks to the few customers around — members of whatever loose alliance Lance, Keith, and Yathir had going on. “It’s not meant to be an involved conversation. We have a few ideas to send Jorlack’s way, and I’m sure he has some of his own. We’re still finalizing our strategy for when we next go toe-to-toe with Dras’ forces.”

 

“And you’re delivering the prisoner to him?” If Shiro had any kind of sick feelings over what Lance and Keith had done to Fregola, he did a terrifyingly good job of concealing them. “I’m guessing that was pre-arranged.”

 

“Yeah,” Lance said, and offered up no further explanation. “So, you know, if you wanna maybe check out our stash for better guns and stuff … The ones you have are … not the best.”

 

“The best of the worst Jacomir had to offer,” Matt said with an arched eyebrow. “You know, I wonder if they were hoping for us to die down here.”

 

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Pidge said bitterly, already having constructed a few viruses to send Jacomir’s way once they left this hellhole. She also may have left a monitoring device or two. What fun was revenge if you couldn’t see the outcome of it? She had to hold back from rubbing her hands together with malicious glee.

 

“I’m all about a better, bigger gun.” Hunk came over to pull Lance from his seat. “Wanna see you shoot at some targets, dude. Brisha keeps saying you’re some kind of sniping prodigy, and I mean, you were _good,_ but _genius_ might be a little —”

 

“Excuse _you,_ I’m gonna show you what one half of the Two McClains can do, you jerk!” Lance pushed past both Hunk and Brisha. “The stash happens to be on the way, so _vámonos, chicos._ ”

 

“And that’s another thing,” Hunk said as they all trailed after Lance out towards the back of the inn — Brisha continued on to the outdoors while they armed themselves. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s with the name?”

 

“It’s our troupe name, our business card, so to speak,” Lance proclaimed proudly. “Also, it’s part of how Keith proposed to me, so it’s near and dear to my heart.”

 

“What.” Hunk pointed at them both. “That doesn’t explain _anything._ ”

 

Lance led them to a small, locked room, partially concealed behind several barrels of alcohol. He opened the slim door, gesturing at them to head into the weapon’s locker. “Well, it’s a story involving my chosen alias for this world, _Lance McClain,_ and yet another epic heist —”

 

“Which went so very, very _wrong,_ ” Keith interjected.

 

“— and Keith’s epically horrible timing —”

 

“Actually _spectacular_ timing, thanks.”

 

“And my nearly dying of a stab wound, which I totally ignored while I sniped some fuckers like a _badass,_ ” Lance finished off, grinning as he lifted his shirt to show off a deep, thick scar, maybe ten or fifteen centimetres long, low on his right side. Pidge sharply picked out several other scars of varying shape and size before Lance dropped his shirt.

 

“I tossed a grenade to those same fuckers and told them that the two McClains were ready for anything,” Keith picked up where Lance let off. “And then I kissed him for the first time as it went off.”

 

“Keith …” Shiro scratched at his scruffy jaw while letting out a brief chuckle. “I … can’t even say I’m all that surprised. I will admit that it’s a damn good story. Can’t wait to hear it in more detail.”

 

Coran and Matt had picked up more efficient looking guns already, so Pidge plunged in to seek out a few pistols for herself, abandoning her inferior ones in a pile. She found a matched pair with a few leaf and vine patterns etched into the hilts. But it was the laser barrel and small scope-attachments that sold her.

 

Lance smiled fondly when she walked out with them and a black leather hip holster. “I thought of you when I saw those in the market … This is surreal …” A look passed over his face like a storm cloud that blew through without a single drop of rain — a moment later he was smiling again. “Good choice, _chiquilla._ ”

 

“So, heisting?” Pidge stepped over to Lance, allowing Shiro room to pass by. “Is that how you two have … stuck around here for so long?”

 

“Partially,” Lance said, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment. “You need to be … someone not to mess with. And we needed money to get out of here. We knew you’d be looking for us, but we couldn’t just wait around. So … we did a few jobs, built up a rep, struck out on our own — people started coming to us instead of the other way around. It was actually pretty decent until Dras started screwing with us.”

 

 _Decent_ was not a word Pidge could or would ever associate with this place, but she added Lance’s words to her growing pile of facts.

 

“You must have some really wild stories.” Hunk smiled very, _very_ brightly as he spoke. Pidge could feel the tension coming off him in waves. She could relate, but she was also growing accustomed of the Lance and Keith of this world; if she let her logical side take over, then it was easier to accept these changes.

 

Hunk was visibly struggling, but as Pidge was barely holding her own together, she didn’t know how to reach out and help bolster him. She tried to smile, to indicate that he do what she do — live each happy moment to the fullest, use it as a shield when things inevitably grew dark again … His eyes gleamed for a half second, and Pidge knew that he was _trying,_ but not entirely succeeding.

 

She gave him a rueful little head tilt and centred herself once more in the familiar, teasing exchange happening around her.

 

“I have a pretty good one that Lance will never tell you,” Keith said, smirking as Lance raised an eyebrow in challenge. “It involves him, some alcohol, and a cactus he _thought_ was _me_ …”

 

“Oh my god, stop,” Lance said immediately, eyes widening. “I’m armed, I’m dangerous, and fiancé or not, _I will shoot you._ And if you think I’ve forgotten that time you took a dive face first into that pile of —”

 

“You know what, whoever wins this shootout gets to pick which embarrassing story is told,” Brisha decided, reappearing by the back door. “Makes this a little more interesting.”

 

“Keith, prepare to be humiliated in more ways than one!” Lance declared, strutting outside with an over-the-top swagger.

 

“I’ve won against you once or twice.” Keith grinned, a hand coming up to trail down his neck.

 

Pidge had the distinct impression that she was witnessing something not unlike _foreplay_ and that was _not cool._ These were basically her _brothers._ No, as far as she was concerned — biological imperatives and hormones taken into consideration and duly _ignored_ — all they did at night was _cuddle and talk about their feelings._ That was how Pidge was going to keep herself from needing brain bleach.

“If I win, I want to hear both,” Pidge said, shoving past the two of them. “And then some, from Brisha. You guys are _unbearable._ ”

 

Lance dropped a kiss onto her head as she strolled passed him. “Missed you too, Pidge.”

 

While Lance might have won in technicality, Keith had executed a series of extremely tricky moves, most of them involving groping (which had Hunk squealing with a combination of hilarity and embarrassment, while Pidge buried her face in her hands trying to _block this crap out_ ). Thus, Lance missed far more than he would have normally. Add to that Coran’s own fairly precise shooting (trick shots under his arm, with his back turned, getting huge cheers from a growing crowd), and most of them were inclined to give it to Coran again.

 

“I’m more interested in what you would consider your best days spent here,” Coran said, looping an arm each around Lance and Keith’s shoulders, guiding them back inside as money changed hands and arguments were had over Lance’s exact score versus Coran’s showmanship. “You can save the more humiliating tales for when we’re back on the Castle — Allura shouldn’t be left out of that delight.”

 

Lance stuck out his tongue, but then grinned, somewhat sheepishly. “Actually, our good days are … sort of boring. Maybe my favourite was Keith’s birthday … It ties with a few others, but it’s … you know, _Keith’s birthday,_ so it has extra edge.”

 

Keith smiled while not quite looking at any of them, his cheeks noticeably pink. He cleared his throat before he said, “Yeah, mine too. Not much happened that day. We hung out on the mountain top, had an all-day picnic, and I tried to teach Lance how to cheat at cards, which he _sucked_ at —”

 

“Hey … I concede the point, as long as you admit I am good enough to beat you fair and square.” Lance leaned around Coran to glare at Keith.

 

“Sure, but that doesn’t bring home the bacon, does it?” Keith argued. “Can’t guarantee a huge pot, right?”

 

“Pfft, what does that matter when I win whatever dough there is _plus_ the handsome cowboy who’s on the other side of the table?” Lance winked and Pidge, Shiro, and Hunk all groaned, though Hunk laughed at the end. Lance shot them with finger guns. “Ah, did I mention that most of Keith’s birthday was spent _naked_?”

 

Pidge kicked at Lance’s legs _hard_ as she walked past — he managed to weave away and pull on her ponytail at the same time. She was beginning to regret her hairstyle choice.

 

Matt laughed at her expense, and Shiro actually grinned hugely. “Keith, I am _appalled._ Public debauchery? Remember when you threatened to report Ilsa Kellis for _public indecency_ because she was kissing her boyfriend good night across from your dorm room?”

 

“There was _no one on that mountain,_ ” Keith protested. “ _Not a single damn person._ ”

 

“Which meant we could be as loud as we wanted, too,” Lance said airily.

 

“Aw man, I just realized now, instead of having Lance flirt with every pretty alien we meet, he’s gonna be flirting with Keith _all the time_.” Hunk stole Lance out from under Coran’s arm, messing with his hair while Lance gave only a token protest. “I designed you this ice pistol — fires concentrated beams of cold air. I used this really amazing Altean air condenser that … Point being, I meant to give it to you on your birthday, but now I’m probably gonna keep it and use it _on you._ Gotta cool —”

 

“Hunk, _Hunk,_ that sounds _amazing,_ gimmie, gimmie.” Lance all but climbed Hunk’s arms and ended up getting a piggyback ride over to the bar, and then dumped onto a stool unceremoniously. Lance used a long leg to tug Hunk in close again, laughing and letting his best friend grasp him in a headlock, messing up his hair thoroughly before letting him ago again. Hunk dropped into a seat and threw an arm around Lance’s shoulders — the look on Hunk’s face was caught somewhere between disbelief and unfettered joy.

 

Hunk had been _destroyed_ the first couple of months without Lance and Keith. He was close with both of them, but Lance had been his best friend for many years. Pidge hadn’t been able to penetrate the despair, especially once she had leads for her brother and father.

 

Hunk sort of … existed for a bit, but not much else. He rarely spoke, he barely cooked or baked, and the only thing he seemed willing to do was train or work on the Lions. Especially Blue. Red had rejected him outright — like she had everyone else until Shiro’s breakdown. Blue hadn’t let anyone in as pilot until that day with Matt, but the Lion tolerated Hunk’s tinkering, his obsessive cleaning and maintenance.

 

Pidge had eavesdropped on the hangar once, out of worry, and heard Hunk’s soft retelling of childhood stories, of Lance’s ridiculous penchant for trouble; how Hunk had been dragged along to a beach party no one under eighteen was meant to attend. How they ended up finding a beached baby whale, and how skinny fourteen-year-old Lance had rallied a bunch of half-drunk college kids to help the creature back into the ocean … Pidge had muted the security feed after that, once she learned that Hunk _was_ talking, just not to them.

 

It had taken nearly three months for him to start interacting with all of the team again, to resume his kitchen and engineering experiments … While Pidge had faltered in hope now and again, Hunk consistently endured — even at his most terrified, he never truly believed that Lance and Keith were beyond saving …

 

Pidge sucked in a deep breath, exhaling to expel the memory fog, to reconnect with her surroundings.

 

Yathir was ready with cool drinks and light snacks. “Do you want me to come with you to Hutton?”

 

Lance ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to tame the now unruly locks. “No, you hold ground here. Keep the patrols going, and let me know if anyone’s spotted anything strange when we get back.” He took a sip of the pink juice, letting out a happy sigh afterwards. Keith fell into the seat next to him, their sides brushing together instantly.

 

Pidge smiled a bit, seeing this instinctual, unrestrained affection — they’d been close before, but now it was like they were inextricably linked. She was happy for them, downright _thrilled_ that the mutual pining was over and done with. She was also dreading precisely what Hunk had realized — but if she caught them making out ( _or worse_ ) in a public space _once,_ she knew how to trigger all manner of sprinklers and alarms. They would learn quickly to _keep it behind closed doors._

“Anybody want to stay behind with Yathir?” Keith asked, finishing off his juice in three quick chugs. “We don’t need everybody in on this.”

 

“I don’t think anybody wants to be left behind, guys,” Shiro said, his hands resting on his belt. “But if you think we’ll be putting you or ourselves at risk …”

 

Pidge saw Lance pause before he answered — she didn’t know whether to be offended or apprehensive. “No, just … remember what I told you.” Lance polished off his own drink and food, standing and giving Yathir a quick wave goodbye and asking Wesdru, “He chained up and ready to go?”

 

“All set,” replied the large woman, her shotgun resting casually on her shoulder.

 

Brisha had disappeared at some point during the shooting contest, and reappeared just then, passing Lance his hat and Keith his coat. “I’ll ride with Wesdru. Don’t forget the —”

 

“Already got it.” Lance patted his coat pocket. “Keep your sights up. When this is done, are you all right with running that errand for me?”

 

She nodded, and they all proceeded out to their vehicles. Keith and Lance both climbed into a hovertruck, beaten up but clearly well taken care of. “Stick close — you won’t be able to lose us in the desert, but if there’s an ambush, better we’re not too far apart,” Keith instructed.

 

They ended up back in the speeder they’d stolen in Whiero City, trailing behind Keith and Lance’s truck as closely as possible.

 

“So, how long are we going to go along with this?” Hunk asked, frowning from his position in the front.

 

“As long as it takes,” Shiro answered, his gun out and resting on his thigh, eyes sharply taking in the sights on the way.

 

Coran hummed his agreement from the driver’s seat, glancing towards Hunk once. “Something on your mind?”

 

“Oh, several somethings, but right now, I’m choosing to focus on the fact that we’re not hauling Lance and Keith back to Green and just taking off.”

 

“You think they would let us?” Matt shook his head. “I don’t know them all that well, but from what I’ve seen, they would put up a hell of a fight. And I’m not entirely sure we would win.”

 

“Matt, you don’t know them, don’t know Lance,” Hunk insisted. “I get that he’s doing the noble thing, I do, but this place … What’s here that’s really worth saving? Like, I see that Yathir and Brisha — they seem cool. Nice even. But they can clearly fend for themselves. And Dras _hates_ Lance and Keith enough to try and kidnap us, hold us hostage … If Lance and Keith are gone, won’t that solve a huge part of the problem everyone else is dealing with? Lance has to know this, and he’d be okay with it, after he’s back home with us, and had time to think without a death sentence looming over his head.”

 

“It’s not that simple, Hunk.” Shiro’s eyes took on that faraway look again. “You … you might have to accept the fact that Lance isn’t the same person we knew. And neither is Keith. They have a mission they need to complete, and as their team, we’re duty-bound to help them see it through.”

 

“And before you say anything about Voltron, what _actual_ good would it do?” Pidge leaned up from her middle seat, bracing herself against the centre console. “Lance and Keith’s allies are clearly scattered all over, and we risk hurting innocents — you saw those children, Hunk, I know you did. This isn’t something a really big weapon can solve. And even if we use the fear and intimidation factor, clearly once Voltron is gone, and the threat is no longer present, they’ll go right back to the status quo.”

 

Hunk pressed his lips together, eyes closing. He sighed after a minute of silence, scrubbing at his eyes with one hand. Pidge caught his jaw trembling.

 

She patted him on the arm, squeezing his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I … I’m having a tough time with this too. They seem _so different,_ but then they start joking and laughing, not to mention the flirting, and it feels so normal. I’m kind of getting tired. Wish they’d stick to one or the other.”

 

“Like I said, we need to start adapting to the changes in Lance and Keith. This isn’t going to be resolved neatly even once we finish here and head back to the Castle.” Shiro checked his gun as he spoke, and Pidge withdrew back to her seat, taking a moment to lean into him, resting her head on his shoulder. She wasn’t often this touchy-feely, but her team needed grounding — and so did she. Shiro ran a hand through her hair, a soft, barely audible _thank you_ reaching her ears.

 

Coran sped up as the town of Hutton came into view. “No matter what alterations have occurred, they are still part of our Voltron family. Did you not teach me that strange Earth term, what was it — Oh-Pyjama? Oh-Suzanna?”

 

“’ _Ohana,_ ” Hunk corrected, and he laughed briefly, wiping at his eyes one more time. “And yeah, no one gets left behind.”

 

“Or forgotten,” Pidge finished firmly, smiling at her big brother.

 

“You’re making me miss Disney.” Matt bit his lower lip. “Man, adding that to the list of things we've got to do when we make it home — _Disney marathon._ ”

 

They spent the rest of the ride over arguing about which movies to include and which to leave out (Hunk was adamant that there be no _Bambi_ or _The Fox and the Hound,_ which no one opposed, but Pidge wanted to include _Cars,_ which both Matt and Hunk down voted, and Matt wanted _Up,_ but everyone, including Shiro, said that movie was for emotional masochists only).

 

Keith pulled into a dim alleyway between two buildings, one of which was little more than a shell. Coran parked just behind them; they all exited, imitating Lance and Keith as they checked their weapons before proceeding out onto the street.

 

Eerie quiet reverberated around them — while it was midday, only a few people roamed the streets. They headed towards a place that was a few doors down from a wreckage — little more than blackened wooden beams, collapsed roof and floors, the front of it gutted, spilling glass and ash and broken wood planks out onto the road; no one had bothered to clear it … Pidge stared at rusty brown streaks on what must have been the front stoop.

 

Lance explained, his voice harder than ever, “Hutton used to be a bustling town, but not too many folks like to hang around when there’s a war going on. Gets busier at night — can’t stay away from the drinks and the gambling _all_ day.” He was pointedly not looking at the burned remains behind him. Keith glanced at them once, stared for a moment, and then moved right on.

 

Wesdru, Brisha, and a few others, including the chained up Fregola, were waiting for them, partially tucked into another alley next to a … saloon? Pidge blinked as she stared at the freshly painted sign — _The Dead Tyrant: Saloon and Gambling._ Lance must have had a _field day_ when he first found this town. She wondered how many terrible cowboy jokes poor Keith had to listen to for these long months.

 

“ _Dead Tyrant_ seems a little on the nose,” Matt observed wryly. “Also, perhaps a bit inflammatory?”

 

Keith snorted. He gestured towards the blackened remnants. “ _That_ was Dras’ doing. And that was Jorlack’s original place.”

 

“He decided to make a very clear point with this new one,” Lance clarified.

 

Lance was walking next to Brisha, who reached out and rested her hand on his upper arm for a few moments before stepping into the bar ahead of them. Wesdru had Fregola in front of her, jabbing at him with her incredibly large shotgun if he stumbled or slowed down. She pushed him through the door, and Pidge could hear the distinct _thump_ of him crashing to the floor.

 

“Shit,” Lance muttered suddenly. “I’m an idiot. Should’ve realized we’d need to pass this off in front of everyone, can’t take it to the backroom, it’ll draw attention —”

 

Pidge had no clue _what_ they were talking about (only that it was whatever Brisha had mentioned to Lance back at Yathir’s place — information? Made sense, as there was no network to transmit messages on).

 

“Get in close and get it to me, and I can take care of giving it to Jorlack with no one seeing,” Keith murmured back to Lance.

 

She watched them step inside together, followed by a sudden surge of noise that sounded like at least a couple dozen people shouting out greetings.

 

Pidge stepped around Wesdru, past a few guards stationed by the door, putting herself nearest to Lance and Brisha. She started taking stock of the place, her computer scanning for anything potentially bugged or explosive, but coming up empty thus far. It wasn’t too big, but it had a second floor, with a balcony that overlooked the bar and tables. There was a curtained off area in the back, and nearly everyone in the place — whether bartenders, servers, or patrons — was armed to the teeth.

 

A few called out excited commentary and questions.

 

“Glad to see you on your feet, Keith!”

 

“Lance wouldn’t say how bad it was, just that you were alive!”

 

“Knew it was fucking bad based on Lance’s face alone …”

 

“No more keeping hush-hush about it then? Fuck me, that was hard …”

 

“Yeah, yeah, he’s back,” Lance said, stopping to kiss Keith’s ear as he sauntered over to the bar. “And yeah, no big deal if you talk about it — no way to keep it a secret since he refuses to hide out in Dagos, and, you know, _not announce_ his resurrection to everyone and their mother …”

 

There was laughter as Keith shot Lance a single-fingered salute and then a three fingered gesture that Pidge had no idea as to its meaning, other than it was apparently offensive, based on the whistling and mirth around them.

 

Pidge had known that something had happened recently, and that it had been bad — Keith’s flinch when she’d hugged him that first day, Lance’s scar, Yathir telling them that the past two weeks had been _brutal_ — but to hear these people talk … Keith had been close, _too close,_ to dying. At some point, she would ask about that, but not now. Right now, she had to stay alert, stay in this moment and completely aware of her surroundings.

 

More congratulations poured in, but Keith barely acknowledged the words, tipping his head towards a few of the friendlier voices. Soon after, the assembly’s attention refocused, a quiet rumble spreading out in a wave.

 

They were all staring blatantly at Pidge, Hunk, Shiro, Coran, and Matt.

 

“Lookie here,” came the rusty voice of an old alien, his wizened dark orange skin wrinkled and scarred, but his eyes bright and clear. He tapped a wickedly curved dagger against his chin. “McClains brought in more of their kind.”

 

“Huh, seems like your species naturally comes in pretty packages, then,” said a red-scaled woman with a greasy smile. She winked at Shiro, who pretended not to notice, so she redirected her attention to Coran, who winked back and twirled his mustache, making her laugh.

 

“A little too cleaned up for my tastes, D’lin, but I see your point,” said a man with several tattoos on his bare green scalp, a leer directed at both Matt and Hunk. Matt just smiled kindly and kept his hands on his pistol grips. Hunk gave a strange, halted wave and then pointedly looked at the floor, the ceiling, _anywhere_ but at the sultry stares shot his way.

 

The old alien’s keen gaze fell on each of them in turn, and when he stared at Pidge, she didn’t flinch — she met his eyes dead-on. He raised a grey eyebrow at her, displaying a mouth full of shark-like teeth as he grinned. Hunk straightened his shoulders and glared at him while gripping onto Pidge’s upper arms.

 

“More trouble for us, isn’t it?” said a short, stoutly muscled alien woman — half her face was marred by a trident shaped brand, and she was missing one hand; in its place was a complex contraption that seemed to be a gun with an opposable thumb. “Unless they’re as good as you two in a fight, and bad at stirring up shit, _unlike_ you two morons.”

 

Shiro rested his hands on his concealed weapons, taking up a casual pose against the bar. Matt took a seat next to him, playing with his pistol absently, as if bored by the whole conversation. Coran waved jauntily and revealed a smile just as sharp, though his teeth weren’t jagged.

 

“Been a year, maybe they’ve improved on all counts,” Lance said shortly, a hand on one of his guns. “Where’s Jorlack? Telliya?”

 

“Here,” came a deep voice. From behind the curtains, a door swung open — out walked a relatively short in stature alien male, hairless with dark blue skin, his solid frame emphasized by his clean-cut manner of dress. Behind him loomed a huge woman, bright turquoise skin, fine dark grey hair streaked with blue, and several claw marks across her neck and what Pidge could see of her arms.

 

When she saw Fregola on the ground, she unleashed a series of guttural curses, culminating in growls so fierce that a few of the hardened criminals flinched. Hunk took a step back, but Pidge held her ground, though she had to swallow down a squeak; she kept her eyes glued to the scene playing out before her.

 

“You managed to get what we needed from him?” Jorlack asked, seemingly unperturbed by the aura of violence emanating from the woman at his side.

 

“It wasn’t much, but we got it,” Keith answered, his fingers resting on the pommels of his swords. “Dras has big plans for us, but he doesn’t know details.”

 

Jorlack’s gaze latched onto the prisoner’s snapped fingers and swollen wrist. “I imagine you were thorough.”

 

“Thorough enough.” Keith tapped the bar with two fingers, and a moment later two drinks appeared. Lance sat down on a barstool right beside Keith’s standing form, grabbing one of the glasses. Keith took the other and then raised it to the woman. “For Grisner.”

 

Pidge’s initial assumption about that name had been correct. This Telliya was probably a sister, or a wife, or some other intimate connection to the dead man.

 

The alien woman pointed a finger at Lance and then Keith. “You two, I can’t forgive. But I’ll take this. And I’ll make sure you get the hell out of here before Dras can finish you off.”

 

Lance grimaced. “More than I deserve, Telliya.”

 

“Is he mine?” Telliya didn’t ask so much as demand of Jorlack.

 

“Unless someone else thinks they have a higher claim?” Jorlack inquired of the room at large.

 

No one spoke.

 

“Wait!” Fregola cried out as Telliya approached him. He dragged himself over to clutch Keith's booted ankles, even with his broken wrist and fingers. “Please, you swore! You swore —”

 

“You know what we swore, Gol — you just didn’t think it through, did you?” Lance said tonelessly. “Wording is everything.”

 

By this time, Telliya had grasped the chains, and Fregola went feral — he lashed out, kicking and screaming, frothing at the mouth as he screeched for mercy, puking near Keith’s feet. Pidge finally retreated into Hunk, who pulled her in by the back of her jacket, just as Matt reached for her hand unobtrusively, hidden from prying eyes by Hunk’s coat.

 

But none of it mattered when Telliya released a harsh roar of her own, one massive foot coming down, crushing Fregola’s skull. The muffled crunch, the wet whistling between his lips, his eyes rolling upward as he seized, then stilled. But Pidge realized with horror that Fregola was still alive, choking on his own vomit, bleeding from his ears.

 

Telliya trawled him away, out towards the back and perhaps even further — the garbled sounds faded, and Pidge knew her face was drained of colour, that she had no way of standing up straight except for Hunk, who was wavering behind her.

 

Matt swooped in, casually shoving her up against the bar as he ordered drinks. “Whatever they’re having, and a couple more for the rest of us.” He used his position to subtly give Pidge a quick hug. She had to go rigid to keep herself from curling up in his arms.

 

Her older brother tossed a few gems onto the bar, and Pidge didn’t know where he’d gotten them, and why did that matter, and she just wanted to _go home,_ whether the Castle or Earth, as long as it was _far, far away._

 

She made the mistake of looking to Lance and Keith.

 

Neither of them seemed even remotely repulsed. Lance had a grimly satisfied expression, while Keith appeared to be completely indifferent. He stepped over the vomit, boots landing in fresh blood without a care as he approached Jorlack. “How’s your prep going?”

 

“I’m calling in a few of my favours in Byothal and Ithorla.” Jorlack hitched his fingers into his gun belt. “And ordering my people there to keep vigilant. They’re not too strongly fortified in those parts, but they’d be able to withstand long enough if Dras decides to lash out in a big way.”

 

Lance nodded. “That’s what we figured. I’ve got one more source I can tap. He’s not very high up in Dras’ crew, but it’s a way in.”

 

“Let me know once you’ve got the intel, then,” Jorlack said, eyes drifting over to Pidge and the others behind her. He didn’t seem to care all that much, and Pidge was grateful. The other curious, penetrating gazes were starting to make her skin crawl. “In the meantime, we keep up with the patrols, and I keep her business out of the other towns. She’s started trying to kill my contacts and allies. She’s winning herself no favours.”

 

“She still has more people at her disposal than we do,” Keith said as though he’d repeated himself many a time. “And if she’s pissed off enough, she could involve Jacomir.”

 

“Let 'em come!” came a shout from one corner.

 

“We’ll eat 'em alive!” roared another, and that one didn’t sound like a boast but an eager _promise._

Pidge shot a look up at Hunk and her brother. Hunk hadn’t recovered his colouring, still a greyish-green, and Matt was every inch the rebel warrior who Pidge saw peek out during battle. Shiro and Coran had taken seats and were sipping their drinks; Shiro was so blank faced that Pidge cringed in empathy. She had no idea if she’d managed to keep her fear and disgust to herself — probably not.

 

Jorlack gave the slightest smile to his people before clapping Keith on the shoulder. “You ready to present this to everyone tomorrow?”

 

“Tomorrow,” Keith confirmed.

 

Lance draped himself over Keith’s back, and Pidge, her eyes sharp, watched with a distant appreciation as whatever Lance had in his coat pocket made it into Keith’s hand as he shook with Jorlack. The boss pulled away and no one was the wiser — except for Pidge, who was short enough and close enough to catch it. A memory stick, maybe? If so, she was right about the information — whatever it was, they weren’t openly discussing it, even in a private backroom …

 

“You’re liable to get yourselves killed in the meantime,” said the gun-handed female, snorting as Jorlack moved back to his office, Pidge presumed. “Your informants have fucked us over enough.”

 

Some jeering met her words, comments Pidge couldn’t quite catch, but the room seemed to be fairly at ease, even entertained, so maybe there was no reason to feel threatened just yet. She kept her eyes away from the stained floor, redirecting her analysis to the new situation at hand.

 

“Ikalee, light of my life,” Lance said sweetly. “If you’ve got better plans, notions, perhaps even inklings, I’m willing to listen. If not …” He unholstered one of his guns. A few others grabbed their own weapons, but no one made a move towards him — it was bizarrely _casual_. “We could take this outside.”

 

Cheering and chuckling, and even some encouraging, vicious shouts met this announcement.

 

Shiro started, though he remained seated, his gaze taking in each person, evaluating them. Coran, Pidge saw, had his gun loosely in his hand now, but he seemed completely unperturbed. Matt was more focused on her and Hunk, which made her all the more grateful that he had come along.

 

“Saw ’im shoot clean through the eye of a _kiusen_ at over a hundred metres,” said the old alien, laughing at Ikalee’s scowl. “Go on, girl, get yourself shot over your pride. Ain’t no never mind to the rest of us.” Much laughter followed these words.

 

Pidge didn’t know what to feel. She decided to concentrate on the budding sense of awe at the _respect_ Lance and Keith commanded. Her stomach wasn’t rolling quite as much, but she shivered periodically. And she felt Hunk do the same.

 

“Lance.” It was all Keith said, and Lance settled back in his seat, sipping more of his drink. Pidge grabbed her own glass, her hand shaking, sloshing the drink around as she brought it to her lips — it slid down her throat, sweetly cold, trailed by a harsh burn. She held back a cough, heard Hunk choke but then smack his lips, approval in his low hum.

 

“Do you always submit your prisoners to execution here?” Shiro asked. He spoke relatively quietly, but Pidge was sure some of those seated nearby had heard and were smirking, mocking him without words.

 

Keith turned to give Shiro a hard yet calm look. “There’s no court system or jail, Shiro. Leave it.”

 

“Clearly, y’all ain’t from around these parts — we knew that about them two,” the old man said, nodding towards Lance and Keith. “But always was curious ’bout how they ended up here. Such fumbling pups they were. What they’d do, back on your planet?”

 

“Maybe nothing,” the bartender said, laughing humourlessly. “Had plenty of innocent folk end up here before. They usually don’t last long. Not unless they weren’t too innocent in the first place.”

 

Lance gave her a wink and blew her a kiss. “Aw, Rynsu, you tryin’ to sweet talk me?”

 

“Quit it, I don’t need to end up with a hole in my hand courtesy of your promised one,” Rynsu ordered him. Her lips twisted into something of a grin, deep creases on either side of her mouth. “Figured you two weren’t guilty of whatever crime got you sent here, but you had the makings of one of us all the same.”

 

A shadow passed over Lance’s face though nothing about his smile changed. Pidge shivered again.

 

Keith shifted closer to Lance, his gaze conveying nothing as he glanced towards the elderly alien. “Me and Lance prefer to keep things a mystery, Dorgrun.”

 

“Well, if these squeaky clean ones are here to take y’all back, then I think you should accept the offer,” Dorgrun rasped out, playing with his dagger, scratching behind his pointed ear with it. “Whatcha you holdin’ out for?”

 

“Ending this bullshit with Dras,” Keith answered, blunt as always. “Gettin’ things back to normal.”

 

“I’ll drink to that,” Ikalee said, raising her half-empty glass. “Even if I hate you and your damn shit-stirring.”

 

“You charmer,” Lance cooed, lifting his finished drink in her direction. “Nice to know you’ll be having my back in battle. Make sure not to get too distracted by my ass.” Pidge watched as he shot the irate woman a half-lidded stare, an easy smile on his lips and slight jutting of his hips towards her.

 

She had never seen Lance so _easy_ with his flirting before, but this wasn’t just flirting … She had spent far too much time on this planet being horrified by various people and acts, and somehow she still managed to be embarrassed by overtly sexual posturing, even if it was by _Lance._

 

“It ain’t news that half of us would bend you over in a second, McClain, if it weren’t for the other McClain’s knives at our throats,” Ikalee said disdainfully.

 

Hunk coughed into his drink, and Matt smacked his back. Shiro’s eyes were widening though he managed to keep his mouth in a stern line. Coran seemed torn between amusement and protectiveness.

 

Ikalee spun the barrel of her gun hand. “I can want to screw you and still hate you.”

 

“I might still stab you.” Keith levelled her with a scorching stare. “Just for your information.”

 

“If you went around stabbing everyone who’s ever wanted to screw Lance, you’d be neck deep in blood,” Brisha said, and Pidge jumped, once again not having noticed her disappear and reappear. Brisha tapped Pidge’s shoulder somewhat apologetically. “And while I would love to continue to prop up Lance’s ego, I should let you know that several Goylan Death Bringers are outside.”

 

“No, why,” Lance whined. “Hey, Ikalee, you wanna see some people shoot at me? Would that make you feel better?”

 

“Fuck yes,” she said promptly. “Hang on.” She chugged her drink, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her flesh and blood hand afterwards.

 

Shiro grabbed at Lance’s sleeve as he passed, murmuring, “Lance, we need to talk. And what’s happening outside? Do you need backup?”

 

Lance tugged his arm from Shiro’s grip, and he said, not bothering to keep his voice down, “We can deal with whatever later. These guys aren’t anything to worry about. Let me and Keith do our thing.”

 

They walked out, Pidge now gripping both of her guns tightly. She hated the way her arms and legs kept shaking periodically, the way that drink burned in her stomach, and how Hunk, one of her closest friends, kept looking at Lance, their other best friend, as though he were a stranger — a stranger they should be wary of. And right now, she really hated these people in front of her, armed and pointing all their guns at Lance and Keith, ignoring her as though she and her fellow Paladins, and Coran, weren’t even there.

 

Ikalee and a few others stood off to the side, and Pidge could see they all seemed completely relaxed, laughing meanly at the gang that had gathered on the street.

 

“McClain, you owe us!” shouted the leader, another bulky female, her hair pulled up in a high ponytail, shaved sides revealing pointed ears and several gouges in her head. She pointed a slim pistol at Lance. “You fucking left us to die there!”

 

“You refused to retreat,” Lance said flippantly, with no hint of remorse. “I told you the risks. I said I was there strictly to steal the meds. You were the one who fucked your own gang by sticking around when the reinforcements showed up.”

 

“Can’t have meant that much to you, if you’re just showing up now.” Keith kept on with that bland voice, and Pidge straightened up, bracing herself as he drew out his swords.

 

“Dagos is well protected,” the leader admitted, disgruntled. “Had to wait for you to show up here. And you’re gonna compensate us for loss of life and limb, asshole.”

 

“Stupidity doesn’t get rewarded.” Lance cocked both his guns, twirling them recklessly. “So you’ve got about three seconds before I —”

 

A shot penetrated the silence of the town. Everyone whipped around to see a long-limbed alien fall from a building just to their left — a rifle clattering to the ground just before the sniper landed in an ungainly heap, unmoving, not breathing.

 

Coran lowered his freshly fired gun, glancing towards Lance. “Seems like they just wanted to shoot you in the back.”

 

“Right,” Lance said, and _without_ _even looking,_ he lifted one hand and shot the gang leader in the throat. She collapsed, bubbling breaths coming out once, twice, and then she stilled. “Anyone else? You all understand that she was dumb as rocks, right?”

 

One member stepped forward, his gun pointed at the ground. “She wasn’t wrong about fucking us over. You swore we’d get rich.”

 

“I was a bit distracted at the time.” Lance look towards Keith, who held up a bag of gems. “You would’ve been rolling in it if you left when I told you to. But here, have this" — Lance jerked his head at Keith's offering — "and don’t be dumb in the future.”

 

The member holstered his gun and took careful steps toward Keith. Pidge saw movement from the corner of her eye — another gang member who had dropped into a crouch, just behind two bulky ones. A gun levelled at Keith between their legs.

 

She darted forward, firing twice — the crook’s gun went flying with the first bullet, and the second bullet hit his shoulder. He went down, howling, and chaos broke out. The spectators from the bar ducked and fired blindly, heading back into Jorlack’s for safety.

 

Coran fired quickly, haphazardly, sometimes hitting his targets in the arms and legs, but a few found their way into heads and hearts. Pidge rolled over to Matt’s side as he kneecapped everyone that tried to get at him. One of the injured thugs took aim at Pidge’s face, and she couldn’t duck fast enough … but then said criminal's forehead instantly had a neat hole placed in it by one of Matt’s laser bolts.

 

He muttered a soft, “Sorry, Pidge, can’t take chances here.” And then he kept firing, but with more lethal accuracy.

 

Shiro rushed in behind the gang, taking out a few that had heavier weapons — he had discarded his gun, using his arm and the pommel of his sword to knock them out cold.

 

Hunk fired periodically, nailing a few stranglers who tried to get an angle on them, but he stuck in close to Pidge. When no one approached them, they both turned and stared in terrified awe at The Two McClains.

 

Keith was back-to-back with Lance, and every presumptive killer who tried to get at him summarily lost a finger, and then was cleanly stabbed in the gut or the chest, and once in the neck. He kept spinning as Lance did, who fired precisely into the heads of those that circled, of a few who emerged on the rooftops. Coran helped Lance take those would-be snipers down nearly as instantaneously as they appeared, the fight ending on those last few shots.

 

Pidge dimly wished she’d known to time this — her muscles screamed at her to sit, as though she’d been fighting for hours, but in reality, she was sure it had been no more than two or three minutes. The shaking was in full force; Matt took her guns, holstering them for her, and then pressing her face into his chest.

 

“I’m sorry.” Matt spoke gently, trying to be soothing. “But it’s over now, Katie, it’s okay.”

 

Pidge cringed as another shot shattered the day.

 

 _“Keith!”_ Shiro cried out. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

 

She fought her way out of Matt’s grip, whipping around to see Keith, holding one of Lance’s guns, firing again into one of the prone forms on the ground. The alien died without a sound.

 

“Making sure we don’t have to deal with any stupid revenge plots,” Keith said steadily. “Because these dumbasses are the type. We don’t have time for their bullshit.”

 

Shiro grabbed his wrist, preventing him from firing again. “No, _stop._ They’re _defenseless._ You _won._ Enough.”

 

“Not enough,” Lance murmured. “They’ll come back. They always do.” His eyes weren’t seeing anything in front of him, and Pidge recognized that look all too well. Her brother, her dad, Shiro … They all had it, from time to painful time. And she wanted to cry, because funny, awkward, irritatingly confident Lance had it now too. Lance, who murdered, who watched people die without a flinch, who —

 

“No, _not this, Lance, damn it!”_

 

That had come from Hunk.

 

He marched over. Pidge reached out for him, but he shoved her hand away, striding right up to Lance, his expression full of righteous anger, even as tears made his dark eyes glimmer. “ _What the actual hell is wrong with you?_ You’re killing people like … like it doesn’t matter. Like it’s a _joke._ You _swore_ to that guy that he would live, you _monst_ —”

 

“Hunk …” Shiro tried to cut in, but his voice wasn’t quite strong enough.

 

“ _Hunk._ ” But Coran’s, apparently, was.

 

Suddenly, Keith stood at Lance’s side, not touching him, but close enough to be brushing him with each deep breath he took, wearing another expression that was impossible for Pidge to read.

 

Lance looked into Hunk’s furious face and then down to the ground, but only for as long as it took him to square his shoulders, inhale deeply, and raise his head again. His mouth lifted in a cruel smile. “You want to have this out, buddy? Let’s do it somewhere safe. Back to Dagos.”

 

He turned away without another word. Keith followed him without a backward glance towards anyone else.

 

This time the silence went on for longer. Hunk clenched both his fists and went straight for the speeder. Coran and Shiro hurried after him, but when they tried to speak, or to touch him, he shrugged them off harshly.

 

Matt stood there with Pidge, waiting for her to make the first move. She just absorbed the quiet, let it slow her pounding heart, ease the rushing dizziness in her veins.

 

When the peace was broken, it was by a soft, kind voice, one that Pidge was becoming familiar with.

 

“Please, they’re not … they’re better than most of us here.” Brisha stood out in front of Jorlack’s, her own gun still held in her hand.

 

Behind her, leaning against the door, was Dorgrun, who seemed older than ever, but sharper as well. His dagger was wet with fresh blood that he wiped down with a cloth as he stared at Pidge, at Matt, and said, “This ain’t no place for heroes. Ain’t no place for better men.”

 

Brisha grimaced, but she seemed to nod at the same time. “But they are. Most of us know that they’re different. And that they’re staying to help us. We respect it. This is our home, and it’s not … For however filthy, lowly you find it here, this is how we choose to live, even if we weren’t sent here by choice.” She gazed at them so imploringly Pidge couldn’t help but believe her. “They’re giving us our home back. Please give them theirs.”

 

Pidge moved then, at last, and she reached out with a hand that Brisha took, shaking it a few times, squeezing gently.

 

“We’ll do our best,” Pidge said, shoving her glasses up her nose, smiling wanly. “They … they’re my family. We’re each other’s home.”

 

Brisha’s smile brightened. “That’s better than any city or planet. I’m so glad.”

 

“We need to go,” Matt said, but he held up his own hand to Brisha. “Thanks for taking care of them for my sister.”

 

“They’ve done more than that for me,” Brisha said, but she accepted his handshake. “I’ll be seeing you real soon. Go on then. Sometimes things need to break off completely before you can fix them.”

 

Pidge swallowed hard at that and walked away, Matt close behind her. They both still had their weapons at the ready. Pidge forced herself to look at the bodies — people from Jorlack’s were coming out again, rooting through the corpses. One wasn’t dead, apparently, but Ikalee took care of that with her gun hand. Pidge kept watching, didn’t blink until she was back in the speeder.

 

Lance and Keith’s truck was already gone, but Coran knew the way; he had it plotted out on his computer, which he rested on the dashboard. Hunk emanated the kind of justified anger that Pidge didn’t know how to rationalize, pondering how to break it down to its base parts in order to reconstruct a more efficient manner of coping.

 

She almost didn’t want to reach Dagos, but Lance and Keith would be waiting, and they, like she had told Brisha, were her _family._

 

Pidge would do anything, suffer through anything, for them. Even if she didn’t know who they were anymore.

 

******

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is :) So, I’m hoping to have the second chapter up in three or four days, as editing is slow-going (and, uh, I still need to finish the last chapter). Apologies if I missed any mistakes — feel free to point them out, and I’ll fix them as soon as I can.
> 
> I thank all of you, again, for your patience, and I hope, so far, I haven’t totally let you down. There’s _a lot_ to deal with in this story, and I’m trying to walk a fine balance between realism and still having fun; trying to respect the angst while not making it incredibly heavy … 
> 
> If you wanna rant to me for whatever reasons (*still nervous as hell*), you can say it here, or you can say it on my [**Tumblr**](http://thisgirlhastales.tumblr.com/), and while I may be slow to reply, I do my best to get to everyone. Hugs and gratitude to any of you who have made it this far into this series — whether you comment, leave kudos, bookmark, or just quietly read along, your amazing kindness is a large part of why there's even a story here to read :) *many hugs*


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are all too freaking fantastic. I cannot thank you enough for your support of this story — but you know I'm gonna try anyway, and be repetitive as hell when I say _**thank you so damn much**_ ** **.****

****** 

_Part Four: Keith_

_Second Day, Early Afternoon_  

******

 

Keith had driven way faster than he should have, but he knew one of the others would have figured out the route back to Dagos; he hadn’t seen anything overtly dangerous to or from Hutton, so they should be safe.

 

He had to restrain himself from dropping a hand down to his side — the wound was largely healed, but he’d put the new skin through its paces today, and the scar tissue ached fiercely, like a burning stretch.

 

Lance had said nothing along the way. Keith hadn’t tried to coax him out of silence. Mostly, he’d shot looks towards Lance, watching the way muscles jumped in his cheek from tension, how his eyes were half-closed as though feigning sleep, how he sunk low and back in his seat, hands periodically formed fists in his lap.

 

In the half hour that it took to arrive back at Dagos, Keith dealt with a low, simmering anger that he tried to redirect away from his teammates.

 

It wasn’t their fault that they couldn’t understand, especially in so short a time, why he and Lance did the things they had to do. The blame lay with no one person, except maybe the Galra who had captured Lance and Keith in the first place. But Keith’s rational mind was superseded by his impulsive nature; the anger, that he was usually fairly good at restraining now, roared to life because _Lance_ was in pain. Keith’s temper had evolved so that it was only that instaneous when something really, truly mattered to him.

 

For the past year, Lance had become everything that mattered.

 

Escaping this world would have meant little to nothing if Lance weren’t at his side. Lance had fought for it as hard as Keith, harder in some cases, as his pragmatism was born from necessary brutality. It had hurt like hell to witness the transformation, but Keith couldn’t wholly regret it — not since it meant that they’d both survived this long.

 

In trying to seek a path back to the camaraderie he remembered from his days on the Castle, all Keith could find was a vast wasteland of differences between him and the rest of Team Voltron. Moreover, the need to protect Lance was so ingrained in him at this point that he didn’t care who was doing the hurting, only that _Lance was hurting._

And he would not allow that to stand.

 

He pulled up to Yathir’s inn, parking the hovertruck and getting out before the engine had powered down. He jumped over the hood to Lance’s side, swinging open the door while saying, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

 

Lance blinked at him, his legs dangling out towards the ground. “What? Keith —”

 

“We don’t have to justify ourselves to them. We shouldn’t have to give reasons for how we’ve lasted, and I don’t want you to —”

 

“Keith, that’s our family,” Lance said stubbornly (the slightest catch in his voice … Keith didn’t know what it meant, but he hated hearing the sadness). “We can’t just —”

 

“Bullshit. We can.” Keith stepped forward between those gangly legs, trapping Lance with an arm on either side of him. “Questioning our methods is the same thing as wishing us dead.” Because if they hadn’t done some of these things, _they would be dead by now._ “And if that’s …”

 

He could hear the sound of the speeder, meaning it was too late to slip away without being seen. He stared hard into Lance’s eyes, annoyed (terrified) that he couldn’t see anything familiar in them … or maybe that he saw something all too familiar reflected back at him. “Do you actually want to do this?”

 

“I want Hunk to get it out of his system. I want you to wait. Let’s do this without throwing punches.” Lance’s posture and tone radiated determination. “And then, yeah, let’s get the hell out of here for a bit.”

 

Keith nodded once, stepping back to allow Lance the space to drop down and walk around to face the others as they arrived. He would respect Lance’s wishes and try to hold back … He didn’t know how long that would last, but he’d give it his best shot.

 

Even after the lengthy drive, Hunk emerged from the speeder rather explosively, his frame vibrating. He stood there, across from Lance, several metres between them, and scrutinized him as if making sure he had the right person.

 

Keith stood next to Lance, his hands resting on his knife hilts instinctually, while flicking his gaze to Shiro, Matt, Pidge, and Coran, all maintaining silence as they watched the two childhood best friends square off.

 

“Who are you?” Hunk asked, his tone scraped raw by anger and confusion. “I need to know.”

 

“I don’t have a clear-cut answer for you, Hunk, it’s not like I took notes every time something changed,” Lance replied, his eyes carefully taking in Hunk’s expression, while not quite meeting the stern glare directed at him. “So the answer is _Lance._ You haven’t seen me for a year. It’s like when we would have summer breaks, and you would come back way taller, or that time I got braces and —”

 

“Not the same, not even _close,_ ” Hunk refuted, taking a small step closer. “I can’t … Is this what you’ve been doing this whole time? Just … killing people and stealing and lying —”

 

“Dude, you’re making it sound like a vacation where I just randomly decided to take the _murder for fun_ safari instead of the all-day spa treatments,” Lance snapped.

 

“You’re treating it like it’s nothing _,_ so yeah, looks about as casual to me as all that. My best friend isn’t that kind of _monster._ ”

 

Keith kept his fists at his sides and away from his swords. He would never actually attack Hunk, but it was tempting, _all too tempting,_ to threaten him so he would  _back the hell off._

 

“Hunk, that isn’t —” Shiro stepped forward, but Coran grasped him by the shoulder, shaking his head when Shiro shot him an affronted look.

 

Meanwhile, Lance had overridden Shiro as well, pointing back towards the inn, sneering and acting as though those words hadn’t hit close to home. “Only yesterday you were willing to just up and leave these people to their bloody fate _._ Am _I_ the monster?”

 

Keith knew he was biased, but _yes, exactly._

 

Hunk, like any of them, wasn’t completely selfless; he could put the well-being of himself and those he loved above strangers’ lives. Keith understood that, having lived under that premise most of his life, with a temporary reprieve as a Paladin, and then regressing right back while living here. But Hunk was acting as though he himself was above such self-interest, which he wasn’t, and that Lance was somehow wrong because he _had to_ exercise a particularly brutal version of selfishness.

 

Keith’s restraint had begun to fray the moment the word _monster_ had entered this debate. So Hunk had spent the year being a _noble_ Paladin of Voltron? _Good for him._ Nobility, like many other honour-related things, was a luxury, and neither Keith nor Lance could _fucking afford it._

 

“There’s a difference between letting two warring factions figure their own stuff out, and throwing yourself face first into it — and using their _extremely terrible_ tactics _._ ” Hunk gesticulated wildly, both arms sweeping over in the direction of Hutton. “Maybe you’re involved in this now, maybe you triggered something so you gotta get in there and fix it — but why _like this,_ Lance? How can you just act like it’s all okay?”

 

“Maybe because I’ve been _living like this for almost a year!”_ Lance gave voice to Keith’s inner thoughts, all but screaming them. “Holy shit, Hunk, do you think _mercy_ is _rewarded_ here? Do you think letting someone live to fight and _kill you_ another day is somehow a valid alternative?”

 

“Of course you should defend yourself, but that’s not the only thing you’re doing, and I can _see_ that! You’re killing people once they’re beaten. You’re not giving _anyone_ a chance to do better, or maybe, I don’t know, get over themselves and move on, live in fear of you. You’re just … maiming and murdering like the worst of them, and _why_?”

 

“To _live_ and freaking earn our keep to get the hell off this planet!” Lance sucked in a deep breath, his arms spread out wide. “Have you been paying attention? _What choice did we have?_ We had to get out of this place, couldn’t spend our time just _hoping_ you’d find us soon.”

 

“Yathir mentioned that.” Hunk’s eyes narrowed, his hands shaking as he gestured around himself again. “But why the hell didn’t you try and hide? Holy crap, Lance, _one_ look at this place and I knew it was bad news, all of it, you should have just —”

 

“Don’t tell me what we _should have done_!” Lance retorted. “You have no _fucking idea_ what the first few days here were like for us. If we _had_ tried to lay low, avoid being noticed, we wouldn’t have lasted long — these people can sniff out something strange and potentially valuable right quick. Keith and I would have been captured and sold to the highest bidder inside of two weeks.”

 

“Highest bidder of _what_?” Hunk seemed not only angry, but also vaguely skeptical.

 

Keith bristled — that doubt was _it_. He couldn’t stick to the sidelines any longer.

 

“The highest bidder of _whoever wanted us,_ ” he growled out, stepping in front of Lance. “As soon as we crawled out of the crash, we watched some evil motherfucker gut the Galra who survived. A couple days later, we had to defend ourselves from a gang that tried to stab Yathir in the back. That gang worked for Jorlack, so he knew we were good enough to recruit, and word got around about us. _There was no way to lay low after that._ ” He hadn’t meant for his voice to crack, but it did — Keith had suffered through a few (too many) nightmares where they _didn’t_ save Yathir; maybe he and Lance could have laid low for a while, but then …

 

“Keith, we understand,” Coran said peaceably, but Hunk wasn’t having it, shaking his head.

 

“No, Coran, _I don’t_ — so you had to fight to stay alive, to keep yourselves from getting pressganged, fine, but when did that turn into _outright murder_ —”

 

“Getting pressganged was the _least_ of it!” Keith gritted his teeth to bite back a few cruel insults. “People wanting to kill us for taking their jobs. Gangs wanting to kill us for working for their rivals. Random bar rights, or armed robberies in broad daylight. And the looks we would get — some of Whiero City’s big time pimps would’ve taken a shot at nabbing us off the streets if we hadn’t proven to be lethal to anyone who tried. You’ve seen how they stare at us even now, right? Lance has had to break hands, not for _fun,_ but to keep those hands _off of him._ Do you get it _now_?”

 

Keith choked back bile as one of his nightmares flashed in his mind’s eye; the indentured prostitutes of Whiero, nothing like the ones at Denna’s — the city boys and girls with wide eyes, usually dilated from whatever drug was hot in the Powder District, covered in make-up, draped in fine clothes, with no visible bruises because _merchandise sells best unmarked,_ but they radiated pain all the same … And Lance, among them …

 

Shiro and Coran both flinched hard at that, and Coran went from seeking peace to … Keith had never seen Coran so _blank_ before. Shiro was easier to read, but Keith couldn’t look at him for long — the pained, righteous anger in his gaze would break Keith, and he had to stay on task.

 

Hunk reeled back, staring at Lance with a new kind of shock — one heavily mixed with despair and disgust on Lance’s behalf; that was an improvement, Keith thought to himself grimly. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Pidge or her brother.

 

Lance stood next to Keith now, and when Keith glanced over at him, he saw an embarrassed pink flush along his cheeks and reaching his ears, different from the redness brought on by anger.

 

When Lance spoke next, it wasn’t quite so angry. “Hunk, this hasn’t been easy _,_ okay? But fuck, at some point, we had to just … We had to keep on living, too? It wasn’t just surviving — it _couldn’t_ just be surviving, or we would have gone insane.”

 

“So … what does that mean?” Hunk still sounded harsh, but it was softened by the tears in his eyes. His hands were open, twitching upwards like they wanted to reach out to them.

 

“It means that we …” Lance faltered, and then took another step forward. “It means that I kill people, and I steal and I lie. I’ve … used pain to get what I needed. And on my off days, I go for rides in the desert, work as a barkeep, or just lounge around in bed with my fiancé.”

 

“And if we didn’t have to kill people, _of fucking course we wouldn’t,_ ” Keith said gruffly. “We tried not to _,_ but all that did was mark us as weak. As easy targets, not worth anyone’s respect. Which meant low paying gigs and people constantly taking advantage. Sooner or later, we were going to die. So we decided to up our game, and push that to _later._ ”

 

“How … how many people have you killed?” That was Pidge, her voice small but steady.

 

Lance gave an honest answer, “I don’t know. How many Galra have we _all_ killed? Maybe members of the Blade of Marmora who were undercover? Maybe some grunts who were drafted and not really all bad? Maybe some officers who had families and …” Lance trailed off, his hands open in supplication. “None of us know.”

 

“War is different,” Hunk said, his expression composed of heartbreak, the fury all but gone. “They attacked first. They’re a threat to everyone in the universe. But yeah, it keeps me up at night, sometimes, all those things you just said … Does it keep you up at night at all?”

 

“Not anymore.” Lance looked at Keith, a sad half-smile flashing for a moment. “Different kinds of nightmares now, but I’m sleeping pretty solidly.”

 

“Lance, that’s not … that’s not okay.” Hunk breathed out loudly, exhaustion heavy in his words. “It’s not okay to be shooting people when they don’t attack first. It is _definitely_ not okay to kill unarmed, unconscious sentient beings. I can’t be … I can’t stand by and let you do that kind of stuff.”

 

“Well, it wasn’t okay with me to die,” Lance countered. “You want to be upset with my choices, you’ve got the right. But this is where I stand, Hunk. In front of you, _alive,_ because of those choices. And you know what?” He closed the distance between them, staring with the kind of lethality Keith only saw out on a job. “This is mine and Keith’s show. You all agreed to follow our lead. So if you don’t like it, head on back to the Castle. Because if you defy us out there, if you change up the plans because you’re _uncomfortable_ or try to save the people who are constantly coming at us — you’ll get me killed, or yourself killed. And I am _not okay_ with that.”

 

“Lance —” Hunk tried again.

 

Keith jerked forward, shoving himself between the two friends. “No, _enough_ ,” he barked. “We’re _done._ You heard him. Put up or shut up, Hunk. This isn’t a negotiation.”

 

“I’m not giving up on you,” Hunk persisted. “I’m … I’m sorry I called you a monster. But … I just …” He raked a hand through his air, his eyes shifting over to Keith, who felt a change in the air. “There’s a part of me that … that wonders, if … if maybe, Keith …”

 

“If Keith … what?” Lance enunciated each word carefully.

 

Keith had a pretty good idea where Hunk was going with this, and it was going to end badly, worse than anything they’d said so far _._ He put a hand low on Lance’s back, pushing with his thumb, stroking back and forth.

“Hunk, no, stop.” That came from Shiro, who slid in between them, his back to Lance and Keith. “We can’t afford to fall apart, not here. It’s putting all of us at risk.” Shiro cast a quick, reprimanding glance over his shoulder, causing the muscles beneath Keith’s hand to tense as Lance stiffened.

 

Hunk let out a long breath and nodded, no longer able to meet Lance or Keith’s eyes.

 

“Oh, so you’ll listen to Shiro?” Lance said coldly. “I guess his blood-stained hands are cleaner than mine now.”

 

 _That_ was crossing a line. Keith should have dragged Lance away from the start like he’d wanted to.

 

“Shiro, we’re sorry,” Keith said immediately. Lance cringed — he ducked his head, obviously ashamed when Shiro turned towards them, his face pale, but … not angry. Or hurt. Keith felt incrementally better at seeing that.

 

“Go, do whatever you need,” Shiro ordered them softly. “We’ll be at Yathir’s.”

 

Keith nodded, guiding a subdued Lance into the passenger seat of the hovertruck. He gunned the engine, roared out of the gate, and pulled a sharp turn, heading back towards the mountain, and then past it, until Dagos was no longer visible in their rear-view mirror. He kept driving, while Lance once again stayed silent.

 

He drove up to a huge rock formation, layers of sediment forming a rainbow of reds, yellows, oranges, and pinks. He had come this way once for a drop, and he’d been meaning to show it to Lance, but then … Dras had happened.

 

“Hey, c’mon.” Keith nudged Lance’s shoulder with one hand. “Follow me. Grab the bag, too.”

 

Lance pulled the survival kit out from under his seat, and then trailed Keith out towards the massive rock. There were several decent footholds, and Keith’s side didn’t hurt quite as much — he probably shouldn’t be climbing, but it was only about ten metres high. He could make it.

 

“Keith, what are you doing?” Lance demanded, and Keith smiled, glad to hear the annoyance and concern — some life returning to him

 

“Showing you a great view,” he said nonchalantly. “Hurry up, _darlin’._ ”

 

“Oh, you asshole _,_ ” Lance shouted up at him, but there was laughter in his voice now. “How _dare you_ use the Texas on me.”

 

“Whatever works.” Keith gave a one-shoulder shrug, staring down with a grin as Lance powered his way up to Keith.

 

They both ended up reaching the top in short order, Keith only just beating Lance. He sat on the flat rock, leaning back on his two hands as Lance tossed the bag over, and then boosted himself up alongside him.

 

“Okay,” Lance wheezed. “This is … is nice, I’ll give it to you.”

 

Before them stretched an endless sea of desert, with warm rainbow-streaked rocks peeking out, the remnants of mountains buried by a millennia’s worth of sandstorms. With the sunset, those summits would catch alight in burning streaks of pale rose, crimson and gold, and that’s when the real splendour of it all would peak. But for now, Keith enjoyed a mild breeze and pretty view of two natural beauties — the desert and Lance.

 

If he said that out loud, he would never hear the end of it, but maybe he should. He wanted Lance to tease him, to laugh, and to be as irritating as possible … Anything was better than that deadly, wounded creature who lashed out at their friends … Even if some of those friends deserved it.

 

Lance didn’t give him the chance to be cheesy, though, because his smile shrunk and he said, rushed and sincere, “I didn’t mean to say that about Shiro. I really, really didn’t, Keith. I’ll apologize to him, I swear.”

 

“Lance, I get it, and so does he, I know it,” Keith was quick to say. He reached over and pulled Lance in close. They ended up sprawled on the rock, their coats balled up under their heads, their limbs entangled. “He won’t hold it against you, and neither will I.”

 

“Probably doesn’t surprise any of them that I said that shit, though,” Lance murmured, his voice nothing more than a rasp. “Fuck. I had a feeling something like that would happen, but knowing didn’t make it suck any less.”

 

“Yeah.” Keith turned his head to watch Lance, blue eyes closed as his mouth parted on a sigh. “I didn’t expect it from Hunk, but in hindsight …”

 

Lance’s lips twisted. “Hunk is a giant teddy bear of a dude, but he can be fierce when he’s protecting his friends. Once, this jackass — O’Leary — was giving me shit at the Garrison for something stupid … Man, maybe it was for bombing in the simulator again, but whatever, not the point. I told him off and moved on, but the guy just wouldn’t quit, and then Hunk, he just …” Lance lifted his arms, miming some kind of wrestling move in the air above them. “It was _brutal_. Hunk got his first disciplinary strike for that, but he told me he’d do it again — and that I should make sure that the jerks I pissed off were smaller and weaker than him because he couldn’t guarantee being able to kick _everyone’s_ ass.”

 

Lance snorted there, and Keith reached over, catching a teardrop before it trickled past the scar and into his ear; Lance leaned into his hand as he kept going, “Hunk has given me shit over stuff, too, though. He has no problem calling out my bad jokes or rolling his eyes when I break out the smooth talking … Or telling me when an idea is way too stupid to work. Usually he’s right there with me, executing said idea, but he’s sure to give me a point form list on all the ways we’d be screwed while we …” Lance trailed off. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get all pathetically nostalgic.”

 

“Hunk is a good guy, but he’s wrong about you this time,” Keith said, waiting patiently for Lance to open his eyes and look at him. “You need to … to forgive him for this." Keith knew it would be better for Lance in the long run to forgive his best friend. But Keith also knew that, in his own case, he would never forget what Hunk said, and he may never be able to fully pardon him for it either. "It’s going to take time for him — for all of them — to really get it.” _If they can ever get it at all,_ Keith didn’t say.

 

Lance finally flipped over onto his side, and there was the blue that Keith adored. A sardonic little smile tugged on Lance’s lips. “ _Patience,_ you say?”

 

“It yields focus,” Keith replied with a sad small grin of his own. “And maybe understanding. We've got to wait it out.”

 

“And I have to apologize to Shiro,” Lance said again, wincing. “Fuck me, that was … I cannot believe those words came out of my mouth.”

 

“I think a part of you was still angry with him. He’s not exactly happy with all of this, and it’s obvious. And he’s got some issues with Yathir. So you’re on edge because he’s on edge —”

 

“Plus, I’ve kinda forgotten what it’s like to take orders from him. From anyone, really. Yathir isn’t exactly commanding us with the same kind of military precision,” Lance added on, sighing afterwards. “I feel like the worst person ever.”

 

“Maybe.” Keith smiled when Lance shot him an accusing glare. “But I’m right there with you on that, so we can be the worst together.”

 

“No,” Lance disagreed firmly. “I’m gonna apologize to Shiro, and to Hunk, but Hunk is going to _apologize to you_ because no way in hell is he getting away with implying —”

 

Keith covered Lance’s mouth with two fingers, silencing him. “He’s not exactly wrong.”

 

Lance instantly tried to protest, so Keith muffled him with his entire hand.

 

“Hey, hear me out. If you had been stranded here with almost anyone else, they probably would’ve advocated the _lay low, play it safe_ strategy. Maybe you and Hunk, or you and Pidge, would’ve been able to hold out for longer until you absolutely had to do something. Fewer deaths. Less maiming. Who knows, maybe even a more clean-cut version of our little mercenary outfit. I get what Hunk’s saying — I’ve always been more … willing to get my hands dirty.”

 

That was strange to say aloud. His face grew hot, his eyes flicked away from Lance’s, and he beat back the remorse with anger, with the justification that at least Lance was alive, even if …

 

Lance yanked Keith’s hand away by the wrist, and then he kept a tight hold on it. “Fuck you, jackass. The implication there is that somehow I’m only this way because of _you,_ and that’s bullshit. Tell me, which one of us was the first to pull the trigger on someone who was unarmed and no threat?”

 

Keith didn’t get a chance to argue because Lance used his hold to pull Keith in, capturing his mouth in a swift kiss. And Keith didn’t want to keep this painful conversation going any longer, (didn’t want to deal with those two weeks of Lance, darker and deadlier than ever, not now), so he drew Lance in further, reaching up to grip a fistful of hair.

 

Lance’s lips parted, and Keith had to hold back a smile in order to keep from disrupting this moment — he had _missed this._ He hadn’t realized how badly until _just now,_ with Lance rolling him onto his back, their mouths barely separating as he slid himself over Keith, dragging a hand down Keith’s chest. Keith flinched, swearing as his side protested _._

Lance immediately recoiled, sitting up, straddling Keith’s thighs, his eyes wide and apologetic. “Oh, crap, I totally — Keith, are you —”

 

“It’s fine,” he said dismissively, pawing at Lance’s shirt, untucking it from his pants and making fast work of the buttons. “Just forget —”

 

“Nope, not happening,” Lance scolded him. “You need to chill out for a second and let me make sure you’re good.”

 

“I’m _not good_ because you _stopped._ ” But Keith let Lance divulge him of his shirt (way too slowly) _._ Lance’s fingertips prodded so lightly at his skin, over his scar, up and down …

 

Keith heaved a great sigh. No more pain, just a dull throb. He glared up at his _stupidly beautiful and thoughtful fiancé,_ the orange glow of the afternoon sun making Lance unfairly gorgeous, even with the concern lining his brow.

 

“See?” Keith said belligerently. “It’s healed, good as new, just not quite used to moving around with it. I've got to start doing those stretches the doctor recommended. And maybe use some cream or —”

 

Lance’s eyes lit up. He reached over to their survival bag, dumping out the water canteens, the dried fruit, the medical kit and then making a happy sound as he shook a little ceramic jar in Keith’s face.

 

Keith blinked. “You put massage gel in the _emergency desert kit_?”

 

“I mean, it also works on sunburns, dude, so get your mind out of the gutter,” Lance said loftily, but his grin was so smug, his eyes darkening while his tongue darted out to lick his lips — Keith didn’t buy that excuse for a second _._

But he couldn’t deny that the gel felt fantastic on his scar. Lance worked it in with gentle, circular motions, soothing the itching sensation Keith hadn’t really noticed until it was gone, and also massaging the sore muscles beneath the fresh skin. He might have fallen asleep if not for the fact that Lance was on his lap, his shirt hanging open, his gaze half-lidded and scorching along the same path as his hands.

 

Then those hands braced on Keith’s chest, pinning him down as Lance slid up, rocking his hips in minute movements. “Okay, querido, you’re going to stay right here and _not move._ Movement from Keith means that Lance will be stopping.”

 

“Third person from Lance means that I will be punching him,” Keith shot back, but he let his body melt into the hard rock beneath him; it wasn’t a soft bed, but it did feel warm and rather nice along his back.

 

“I’m sure you’ll seek your vengeance in some highly creative way later.” Lance shot him a happy little grin — the best thing Keith had seen today — paired with long, caramel brown fingers undoing Keith’s belt, tugging on his pants. “But first, let me give you plenty of revenge material to work with.”

 

What followed was the most leisurely torment Keith had ever experienced. He scratched uselessly at the smooth rock beneath him, even as his muscles liquefied. Eventually he had to smother desperate, babbling pleas with one hand clamped over his mouth because _no way_ was he giving Lance the satisfaction, since the _horrible, wonderful jerk_ was refusing to give Keith _the satisfaction_.

 

If Keith made the slightest jerk or wince, Lance would pull away, massage his side with more gel, touching him nowhere else but that scar — Keith was going to start having some embarrassing reactions whenever his clothing brushed against his left side, and it was all Lance’s fault. An hour or two or _eternity later,_ Keith caved after the millionth time Lance soothed his no longer aching side, begging in a rather angry way for Lance to just “ _finish it, holy fuck, you’re going to kill me.”_

 

Lance laughed delightedly, surging up to kiss the frustrated cursing out of Keith’s mouth, then gasping between their lips as he steadily brought them both up to the edge yet again, and _finally_ let them hit that peak and fall from it, wordless and breathless together.

 

They rested in the dimming sunlight, Lance’s head on Keith’s right shoulder, his hand lying over the left side of Keith’s chest, thumb stroking back and forth. Keith mimicked that movement in Lance’s hair, where his fingers entwined with the damp, curling locks.

 

“You are …” Keith had been about to say _the worst,_ or _a freaking fiend,_ but neither of those felt right, even if he had teasingly said them before. So instead, he took in a deep breath of hot desert air and finished with, “… the single most amazing thing in the universe.”

 

Lance’s blue eyes seemed to grow impossibly when they looked up at Keith, his breath cutting out for a long while, his warm voice fracturing as he said, “I … think you’re the best thing that has or ever will happen to me.”

 

Keith kissed Lance’s forehead, murmuring against the sweaty skin, “We should write this cheesiness down, use it in our wedding vows.”

 

A happy laugh burst out of Lance, and Keith grinned, proud of himself for bringing Lance back around.

 

Lance skated his fingertips down Keith’s chest, over his abs and then even lower. “How about we practise for the wedding night? We should make sure it’s as perfect as possible. I want to be deflowered _properly._ ”

 

“You mean _symbolically,_ ” Keith said dryly, though his breath hitched, and that shivering warmth really shouldn’t be happening again _this_ soon. “No way anyone would believe you’re the blushing virgin groom.”

 

“So you’re saying that’s _your_ role, right?” Lance lifted his head, a mischievous smirk on his face. “Let’s see, give me your best swoon.”

 

Keith stared at him blankly … And then flipped Lance over onto his back, a startled _oof_ escaping those pink lips as Keith settled himself on top, straightening his back and crossing his arms with a smug expression. “Swoon,” he said in a deadpan.

 

Lance cracked up, his merriment echoing all around them.

 

While Keith gave in to his own bout of laughing, he happened to glance over towards the desert … to see a speeder heading their way. He reached over for Lance’s pistol, pushing Lance down as he tried to rise up on his elbows, looking worried now. “Stay low.”

 

“Which one of us is the sharpshooter _,_ dude?” Lance hissed back, but he let Keith crawl over to the edge of the rock, peeking down with the gun cocked and ready.

 

A familiar head of orange hair poked out of the speeder, and then Coran opened the door and spilled out, waving up at them. Keith sighed.

 

“We’re good. But we should probably get dressed.”

 

“Who is it?” Lance appeared jittery, but when Keith told him it was Coran, and only Coran, he relaxed. “Right. Hey, no, those are _my_ pants.”

 

After clothes were correctly sorted and put on, they took a few gulps from their canteens and repacked their survival bag. Keith rolled his eyes as Lance put the massage gel in a special side compartment, waggling his eyebrows at him the whole time.

 

Keith appreciated that the others had sent Coran — or that Coran had volunteered to come on his own. In either case, he was grateful to only have to deal with one person, particularly the person who, so far, had seemed the most … accepting? Unbothered? He wasn’t sure _what_ Coran was thinking, only that he had been quiet and straightforward for the most part. For all that Keith had been missing their cheerful mentor/chef/engineer/medical expert, he was starting to see that Coran had concealed greater depths. This made Keith feel closer to him, which was a weird feeling after a year long separation.

 

“I see my timing is rather impeccable,” Coran called up to them as they climbed down. “I’d assumed you would need a _cooling off_ period _._ Ironic choice of words, I’m aware.”

 

Lance snorted, falling the last couple of metres. Keith took his own descent more cautiously, so as not to undo all of Lance’s _hard_ work (Keith let out a self-deprecating snort of his own — Lance had infected him with that ridiculous sense of humour).

 

When he reached the ground, Lance slid an arm around his waist, tugging him in close. Keith rested against Lance’s lean form; he wasn’t tired, not overly so, but his mind had been stretched and strained in all kinds of directions since their Voltron family had arrived — he was going to need a breather now and again, it seemed, if shit kept going the way it had been so far. He sighed softly, feeling Lance’s hand squeeze his hip, fingers digging into the front pocket of Keith’s pants. Keith didn’t return the gesture, but he knew Lance understood his unspoken, affection-filled gratitude all the same.

 

“Maybe you two can show me around this desert a little, hm?” Coran asked, completely at ease and smiling as though nothing had gone horribly wrong. “Those mountains are especially lovely. And the sunsets go on forever.”

 

“Yeah, right?” Lance said enthusiastically. “Keith and I … um, got distracted, but check out the _colours,_ Coran!”

 

They all stared out towards the extraordinarily gorgeous setting sun for a few moments. Then Coran indicated his speeder with a tilt of his head. “I’ll follow you — take me to the best sight or most interesting location you can think of. Ah, I do believe I shall pick up a few samples for our Pidge, as I’m sure she’s eager to analyze every square inch of this place. You know, while you’ve been … absent, she’s begun a massive encyclopedia of the universe’s flora and fauna, and she’s invented an entire new system of species index, partially based on your Earth’s taxonomic rankings.”

 

Lance grinned, soft and proud. “She’s probably publishing that somewhere, right?”

 

“At the moment the Olkari and several other of our allies are aiding her in spreading the word — she has quite the following amongst those scientific communities.” Coran got into his speeder. “Well, shall we proceed?”

 

Lance nodded and climbed into the driver’s seat of the hovertruck. Keith sat in the passenger side and asked, “Where do you want to go?”

 

There was a lengthy pause, then, “If you’re okay with it, I want to head to the mountain, the cave where …”

 

 _Where Lance nearly died. Where Keith sat next to his feverish body and prayed to anything and anyone who would listen to please,_ please _spare him. Where Keith had experienced some of the worst terror he’d ever felt …_

“Yeah. Let’s show Coran.” Keith reached out to put a hand on Lance’s thigh as he drove, and there was a brief, dizzying moment where he was back on the Castle — back when casual touches like this involved a concentrated effort, followed by a whole host of guilt and recrimination … He shook himself out of the funk, basking in the warmth around him and between them; he was a different person now … And not all of it was _bad._ It _wasn’t._

The mountain was about half an hour from Dagos — from their home at the inn — and they pulled up just a few metres short of the cave entrance. Keith had wandered out here once or twice to see if whoever had used it as a hideout, long before Lance and Keith had crashed here, had returned. This nameless alien never did come back (perhaps they had died, telling no one about this cave), so Keith had hidden a stash of weapons and water in the back of the cave, in case he and Lance ever needed a place to lay low that wasn’t Yathir’s inn.

 

When Lance dropped out of the hovertruck, he hunched in on himself, and Keith realized Lance had never once come back here. Keith actually wasn’t too sure how much Lance even remembered of the two or three days they’d spent in this cave — he’d been mostly unconscious, delusional the few times he’d come around.

 

“I remember rain,” Lance said, as though he’d overheard Keith’s thoughts. “I … I remember the rain, first, and then, you.”

 

Coran walked over to them as Keith’s hand sought Lance’s, intertwining their fingers. Coran wrapped his arms around both their shoulders, and Keith accepted that comfort, relaxed into it.

 

“This is where we hid the first couple of days, Coran,” Keith said quietly. “Lance was injured, and he got an infection — a really bad fever.”

 

“Yeah, I kinda bailed on Keith for a bit. _Lo siento, querido._ ” Lance shot him a small smile.

 

“ _No te preocupes,_ ” Keith replied, watching contentedly as Lance’s smile widened.

 

Coran released their shoulders, moving around them to head into the cave; Keith and Lance trailed after him. The last rays of sunlight penetrated the hideout, and Keith leaned against a wall where he could keep one eye on the entrance. Lance sat down on a crate that contained the bedroll, while Coran sat across him, taking a sip from a flask he had on his belt.

 

“There isn’t much to tell about those first days.” Lance gestured around himself. “I almost died from fever. Keith fed me and watered me like the useless plant I was.”

 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Keith interrupted, and then picked up the story from there. “When we crashed … The Galra were killed by a scavenging party. We found out they were led by an alien who worked for Keegin Dras, not that it really mattered right then. We ran away, hid in this cave. Lance got sick. I kept an eye on him, and we got lucky — both with this cave, and the fact that there were a couple of weeks left in the rainy season …”

 

“Saved by a desert storm,” Lance said cheerfully. “Broke my fever — it’s an epic tale.”

 

Coran had been listening silently, his eyes flicking back and forth between them. “And how, exactly, did you meet your friend, Yathir?”

 

“Oh, when we finally decided to head out from here, looking for civilization, we stopped by the crash site and another scavenging crew was there — and Yathir was looking for metal scraps to patch up the inn. One of the scavenger assholes thought he’d be _extra_ assholey and shoot Yathir in the back,” Lance recalled. “Keith and I took exception to such poor sportsmanship.”

 

Coran grinned at him. “Naturally, I would expect no less from two Paladins of Voltron.”

 

That was a sincere compliment. Keith didn’t feel like much of a Paladin, hadn’t for months, but he had been one, once upon a year ago. For longer than he’d been one of the Two McClains. He reached for his tenuous connection to Red … and found nothing but pain there. He shut it down and clenched his teeth, joining in on the storytelling again.

 

“They were a sorry-ass bunch. Even tired and feverish, we were able to take them out. With Yathir’s help. But, yeah. He was grateful. He said … He said that he’d never seen anything like us here before.”

 

“I don’t think he was talking about humans or human-Galra hybrids,” Lance added, sounding somewhat embarrassed, so he moved on quickly. “He told us to come with him to town. To set up base in his inn, and tah-dah!” Jazz hands, fingers fluttering about. “Now we’re the pseudo-leaders of a sort-of-revolution. That wasn’t in the cards, like not even a little.”

 

“Perhaps not, but you changed the fate of this planet from the moment you hit its soil,” Coran said with certainty. “Paladins such as yourselves alter fates and better others merely by being there to set the example. I don’t believe you’ve transformed at your core, and I know the others feel the same. They are merely … having trouble adjusting to the more discernible differences.”

 

“Coran, are you … Why are you so … You’re not a bad person,” Lance stuttered out. He flushed a bit, taking off his hat to run his hand through his hair. “I mean, you … You’re one of the most noble people I know. So why aren’t you … I would _get it._ I get why Hunk’s mad at me. I get why Shiro’s sad, why Pidge is nervous around us.”

 

“You’re not seeing the whole picture, and neither are they,” Coran corrected kindly. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten that I was part of a war. On a universal scale.”

 

 _Wow,_ Keith actually _had_ forgotten that fact, and he felt incredibly stupid for it. He uncrossed his arms, trying to find words that would serve as sufficient apology … But he’d never been able to, not even back on the Castle, when Allura had to say good-bye to the last vestiges of her father. Or any time Coran got that misty-eyed look on his face as he reminisced about something Altean, long lost.

 

“Right,” Lance said faintly. “You’re so right. What Keith and I have gone through can’t even compare. I’m sorry. We … we weren’t strong enough to —”

 

“Oh ho, stop right there, McClain.” One corner of Lance’s mouth quirked upwards as Coran said the name. “There is no measurement for hardship endured. Only infinite variances, all valid to the myriad who experience them. That you are even _alive_ after a year … I cannot grasp the entirety of what that involved. But I know that it likely took extreme strength of character, the sort of fierce determination I associate with our Red Paladin.” Coran gave Keith a bright grin. “And the kind of resilience and adaptability I’ve always appreciated from our Blue Paladin.” Here he shot Lance a quick couple of finger guns, getting him to chuckle a little.

 

Lance raised a hand to his face, wiping a stray tear that had appeared mid-laugh. “Coran … thank you.”

 

Coran leaned back, frowning. “No gratitude required, Lance. I wish I could express to you how we spent _our_ year. There are no words that could adequately describe the fear, the anger … How very much we _missed you,_ my boys. Well, I say boys, but now, more than ever, I see you as grown men _._ ”

 

“I’m cool with you saying boys,” Lance said softly. “Like, my mom calls me _niño,_ and _Lancito,_ and it’ll probably still be that way when I’m a creaky old man.”

 

“You mean such as myself?” Coran teased, and Lance kicked a bit of dirt his way, shaking his head and laughing a little again.

 

Keith was pleasantly warm despite the desert heat — the sun was almost completely down, and the final orange traces cast lengthy shadows outside the cave. He watched the last slivers of light disappear.

 

“Actually, Coran, since we have you here,” Lance began, somewhat hesitantly. “Can we trust you with something? Something you _can’t_ tell the others?”

 

Keith’s eyebrows shot up, and he whipped back around to focus on the conversation. “Lance, are you sure? Coran, I’m not saying we can’t trust you. It’s just that literally only two other people know.” He and Lance had discussed it in solitude with Yathir earlier that morning — _fuck, just this morning, at dawn, feels like a million years ago_ — and then they’d discretely passed on the information to Jorlack. No one else could know. Everything hinged on this plan working without a hitch.

 

“Yeah, Keith … If this happens, we can’t risk them.” Lance cocked his head at Coran. “We can’t have them riding in on their Lions or getting Voltron or Allura and the Castle defenses.” Lance sighed heavily. “I’ve been thinking about it since this morning, on and off. Mostly off, because, well … Yeah. Point being, while we were driving out here, I figured we needed to tell at least _one_ of our … teammates.”

 

“Whatever it is, I will not breathe a word,” Coran said solemnly.

 

“Even if you object?” Lance asked, voice sharp. “Coran, we’ve had this general plan laid out for a while. You guys showing up doesn’t change that. If you see that we’ve missed something, strategically speaking, we’re willing to listen, but objections on any other grounds will be ignored.”

 

Keith took over here. “But just to let you know, we are very aware of how dangerous this strategy is. We know the risks. While there’s a chance we might die … That chance _increases_ if Shiro tries to run in half-cocked. And _you know that he will_ if he believes he can save us.”

 

Coran stared at each of them in turn. “I see. Well, now that the suspense is appropriately built up, what is this plan?”

 

Lance laid it out in very plain words, quick and efficient. Once Lance had finished, Coran appeared to take a few moments to process it.

 

“… I understand. It will be difficult to keep all of the others contained. But I see your points. You’ve done good work with this. Well done.”

 

Keith hadn’t even realized he’d been gearing up for a fight until Coran took the wind out of his sails. He breathed out, his shoulders dropping into a more relaxed pose. Lance looked the same way, his eyes shining with gratitude.

 

“So the day after tomorrow, you end this.” Coran ran a finger over his mustache. “Rather decisively. I’m with you.”

 

Lance surged up and hugged Coran, squeezing so tightly the Altean man coughed, but he returned the hug just as enthusiastically. Keith smiled, and then nearly cracked his head on the cave wall when Coran made a point to march over to him and give him the same treatment.

 

“We should be heading back,” Lance said thickly, clearing his throat and scrubbing at his eyes again. “And getting some sleep.”

 

Coran pulled back from Keith, but kept an arm around his neck, tugging him out of the cave. “Agreed. Shall I follow you?”

 

“Actually …” Lance looked over at Keith, seeming slightly apologetic. “Would it be cool if you rode back on your own? I’m gonna hop in Coran’s ride …” He seemed younger as he spoke, shuffling his feet.

 

“Sure,” Keith agreed simply. “Make sure you stick close. Now that it’s dark, we have to be more cautious.”

 

Lance bounced over to peck Keith’s cheek and then his mouth in quick succession before jogging over to Coran’s speeder and getting in on the passenger’s side.

 

Coran ruffled Keith’s hair, chuckling to himself. “Ah, not so much has changed. I knew it from the moment I saw him. Saw you both.” He smiled even as Keith ducked his head, not feeling even remotely worthy of this familial affection. “Keith, Lance would not have survived without you. Nor would you have lasted without him. Whatever alterations have occurred, that influence went both ways.”

 

He patted Keith on the back as he withdrew and went over to join Lance in the speeder. Keith crawled into the truck, taking up a position directly behind them as they drove towards Dagos. He didn’t bother to wipe away the tears — no one was there to see them.

 

******

_Part Five: Pidge_

_Second Day, Early Afternoon_

******

 

Lance and Keith’s hovertruck left behind a trailing cloud of dust as they roared out of Dagos. Once they were gone, Pidge opened her mouth to berate Hunk, but Matt actually beat her to it.

 

“Okay, so we’re going to have a conversation right now,” Matt said, his tone brooking no argument. Shiro took one step towards them, and Matt held up a hand without even looking in his direction. “Shiro, I can feel you trying to fix this from here, but you need some time for yourself. _I’ll_ take lead on this one.”

 

It was always a bit jarring when Matt shifted into rebel soldier mode, but Shiro accepted his marching orders readily, only sighing softly and nodding. Pidge patted Shiro’s arm consolingly, leaving him with Coran, and then rushed after her brother and Hunk.

 

Matt led Hunk out to the back area of the inn, where they’d had target practise just that morning ( _morning, only a few sparse hours ago, but time is relative and therefore, ages have past since then_ ).

 

Pidge had trouble compiling all the information she had just learned — she was dealing with an unprecedented amount of _disgust_ and _horror_ at the idea of Lance or Keith being forced into indentured service to some monstrous pimp, and that mixed in with her same _disgust_ and _horror_ at Keith and Lance’s behaviour back at Jorlack's, and then slightly less potent disgust, a sharper anger directed towards Hunk and the _words_ he’d used to talk to _Lance._ Lance, one of the kindest people Pidge had ever known — second only to _Hunk._

 

It was a lot of repulsion, terror, and rage building up inside of her, and she had _nowhere to put it._ Analyzing the cause just brought up images and predictions and she didn’t want _any of it._

So she shut it all down and stared at her brother, willing him to say _something_ that would help her, even if it were all directed towards Hunk.

 

Matt took a silent, shell-shocked Hunk and sat him down on an empty ammo crate. Pidge took up a perch on a barrel. Matt stood before them both, though mostly Hunk, and said with no ado whatsoever, “Hunk, Lance and Keith are _alive,_ good news or bad news?”

 

“Obviously that’s amazing,” Hunk said instantly. “Matt, I can’t … I’m not regretting whatever it took for Lance to …”

 

“Except that you are. Shiro is alive. _I’m_ alive. Do you think any of this came about without sacrifice?” Matt’s eyes were steely. “Would you have us take any of it back?”

 

“Do you feel bad about it?” Hunk argued. “Because I’m getting it, okay? Lance had to survive. They both had to do stuff to stay alive. I would _never_ want them to take it back if it meant …” He couldn’t seem to say it. “But if he doesn’t even feel _bad …_ ”

 

“Okay, so I’m about to tell you something that I have firsthand knowledge of,” Matt said, a touch more gently. “When you do horrible things, you are changed, and it’s a change that lasts _forever._ You can’t go back. You can learn how to deal with it on daily basis, but it’s always there.”

 

Shiro. Matt. Now Lance and Keith. Maybe even herself and Hunk — fighting a war, even a justified one, left its marks, indelible.

 

“When you’re steeped in trauma, when you’re faced with death the way I’ve been, the way Lance and Keith have — you learn that death is often _meaningless._ ” Matt breathed out slowly. “You learn that there’s no difference between the death of some guy whose name you don’t know, who’s on the other side of the battlefield from you, and the sudden, crushing death of a good friend, a good person who did everything right, but happened to bend down to grab his gun at the exact moment a bullet entered that space.”

 

Hunk flinched with each word Matt said. Pidge suddenly wanted to be anywhere but here; she didn’t want to listen to these truths from her big brother, who now had callouses on his hands from wielding his staff and a sharp tone when they discussed _acceptable losses._

She went to dream scenario number 23, where she had managed to find and hack a Galra prison just one week after joining Voltron, gotten Matt back with fewer scars and less darkness behind his eyes.

 

She went back to the jungle planet, eleven months, one week, and two days ago. She went back there and imagined all of them joining Lance and Keith on the surface; she went through her dream scenario number 78, where they fought off the Galra and went home together. Or number 79, where Lance and Keith were captured, but the Castle managed to catch up to the ship and rescue them before any explosions or crash landings.

 

These silly, stupid fantasies gave little comfort because the desert breeze, hot and stifling, kept reminding her that no one had been saved.

“Ultimately, what determines who lives and dies can be as arbitrary as who was standing in what spot when a grenade is thrown. Or who sneezed and jerked right into the pathway of a shot. It has nothing to do with being good or not. Or even with being skilled or not.” Matt paused, inhaling deeply again. “So it’s like a curtain has been slowly pulled back and you see the world in a completely new way. Then you start to shift your behaviour accordingly. You balance threats and risks in each action you take, and morality doesn’t really factor. What matters is _what are the chances of this choice killing me somewhere down the line._ ”

 

Matt stopped again, and he ran a hand through his hair. “Now, what Lance and Keith have been through is different — this place wasn’t a warzone the way you and I think of it, not really, but that paradigm shift happened, long before we got here. Pandora’s box is opened.”

 

Hunk hadn’t moved for the last few minutes, and Pidge was sure he was listening, absorbing what Matt was saying … But how much of it he understood and what he was going to do with it, Pidge didn’t know. She hadn’t fully conceptualized what Lance and Keith had been through either. Or her brother. Or Shiro. What to do with this raw data? How to adjust accordingly?

 

She stared at her brother’s face, gaze catching on the faint scars scattered along his temples and cheeks.

 

“Look, I don’t mean to … lecture, it’s just …” Matt rocked back on his heels, his hands resting on his hip holsters. “This is my perspective on this, and it’s not necessarily what Shiro experiences, or what Lance and Keith have gone through. But I’ve noticed some similarities … And that idea of _not caring_?” Matt laughed briefly, a burst of sound that lacked warmth or humour. “Killing permanently alters two people — the one who dies, and the one doing the killing. Something needs to give in order to preserve the mind of the latter. They feel pain, Hunk, I swear it, but the kind of remorse you’re thinking of — the kind that consumes your entire being — if they felt that _every single time_ they had to kill someone? It would …”

 

Matt ran out of steam, tiredness evident in every line of his body. Pidge jumped down from the fence, reaching for her brother in a deliberate and slow manner, so he could pull away easily. He put a hand out to brace on her shoulder, pressing down hard to keep her at a distance. She wasn’t offended at all, and kept herself right in that spot, close enough to touch if he needed it.

 

“I’m going for a walk,” Matt said quietly. “You … you do what you need to, Hunk.”

 

Matt strode past them both, back towards the main (and only) street of Dagos. Pidge watched him go, knowing he didn’t need her right then, unable to keep from worrying, so she concentrated on Hunk, who seemed on the verge of tears again, wounded and weary.

 

“Do you really think Lance is like this because of Keith?” Pidge asked, her tone lacking in judgement — she didn’t want to start throwing blame around. She agreed with Shiro; they couldn’t afford to be divided, not in this place.

 

“Maybe not just because of Keith,” Hunk conceded, his voice raspy. “But Keith wouldn't have stopped Lance from … becoming like him. Especially not if he thought it would give them an edge over everyone else.”

 

“Yeah, that’s … not a good thing, but it is a … scientifically sound thing,” Pidge tried to explain. “Because, rationally, the traits which promote longevity and sustainable populations are often carried over. Adaptability is key. I … don’t know if it had been any one of us with Lance … if we would have lived this long. Maybe Shiro?”

 

“And Coran,” Hunk suggested, his mouth tugging into a frown. “He’s … he’s pretty cold down here. Knows how to walk and talk to blend in. I feel like people can pick me out as easy prey, Pidge. And you know what? I feel like Lance and Keith are part of _those_ people.”

 

“Except that they would never hurt us. Never. I don’t care how much they’ve changed. I don’t care what they’ve done. Lance and Keith would _never ever_ hurt us.” Pidge allowed no doubts to seep into her tone, no addendums or corollaries to her conclusion. Lance and Keith were loyal and true. Full stop.

 

It just so happened that their methods were … more varied now.

 

Hunk exhaled, long and low, and then stood up, dusting off his pants. He didn’t say anything, just patted Pidge on the shoulder as he headed back into the inn. Pidge walked back around to where Shiro sat on the front porch of the inn, a cold glass of juice in his hands.

 

“Coran’s gone after Lance and Keith,” he told her. “Matt said he’d be back in an hour.”

 

“Okay … Can I sit with you?” she asked.

 

“Yeah, Katie, sure,” Shiro said, smiling half-heartedly. “Won’t be entertaining company.”

 

“That’s fine, I’ve got plenty of research to keep me occupied — be your boring self, I’m used to it,” she replied flippantly, though she shot him a quick smile to soften her words.

 

Shiro chuckled and lapsed into an easy silence. While Pidge dug through her latest scans of the cactus-like plants and a few of the creatures, cataloguing them for her massive codex on interstellar flora and fauna, she noticed that her computer had re-established a link between her computer and everyone else’s — including Lance and Keith’s. Allura must have finally found the right spot for the Castle to act as a network.

 

And in Pidge’s message folder sat several nearly _year_ old messages from Keith. And one from Lance, dated about a week ago. She … she wasn’t ready to look at those yet. Her mind quickly concluded that perhaps the others would not be either; however, the only way to know for sure would be to _read them._

Shiro was staring off into the distance, towards the setting sun, not quite present in the moment, and so Pidge felt safe to skim the messages Keith had sent. They were from the first two days they’d disappeared, and mostly they were to the effect of: _We’re alive, but stranded on unknown planet. No coordinates. Galra are dead._ And then, _Lance is sick, need help ASAP. Fever. Really high. Don’t know how to fix it._

Pidge had to close her eyes for a bit, trying not to picture, with her unfortunately vivid imagination, a desperate Keith, bruised and bloodied, alone in the desert with a Lance who was probably unconscious — Keith wasn’t prone to exaggerating; in fact, he often did the exact opposite. So if he said the fever was _really high …_ Then Lance had probably been on the verge of …

 

Pidge left those messages alone — for whatever reason, she couldn’t bring herself to delete them.

 

Then she read the message Lance had sent just one week ago: _It’s too late. We — fuck, who knows, maybe just me, if Keith … Doesn’t matter. Don’t look for us. Find other Paladins, if you haven’t already. We’re done. I’m done._

She panicked — she hacked into Shiro’s computer, into Hunk’s, and she deleted that message from their inboxes. She dug into the Castle messaging system, into Coran and Allura’s own messages, and yes, there it was — and now it was gone. She hoped Allura hadn’t seen it. Pidge didn’t know what to do with this information, now that it was only in her possession.

 

The message sat there, taunting her, and she threw herself back into her research, hoping that some kind of epiphany would occur while she didn’t have her entire attention devoted to the problem.

 

She took a moment to send a quick message to Allura, letting her know they were all connected again, and then she informed Shiro as well. He seemed relieved, pulling out his computer to immediately start writing an involved message to the princess. Pidge was glad he was the one to tell her about all of this mess.

 

Night had fallen when Matt came back from his walk. Pidge hadn’t even noticed the moment when Yathir had turned on a few external lights so she and Shiro weren’t sitting in total darkness. She became aware of the lights when she raised her head to watch her brother slowly stroll past the parked hovervehicles, looking … better. Dusty, but more himself than he had been earlier that afternoon.

 

Matt paused to converse with Shiro, reiterating some of what he’d explained to Hunk. Shiro nodded along, and once Matt was done, he said, “Thanks. I don’t think I could’ve handled that conversation right then. I’m gearing up for one I need to have with Keith, and like most things involving Keith, I expect it to be tough.”

 

“Younger siblings are like that — needlessly challenging and obnoxiously persistent.” Matt sighed wearily, _exaggeratedly._ Pidge kicked him without looking.

 

“I guess being blood-related doesn’t make it any easier. Good to know,” Shiro said seriously, ducking Pidge’s next strike that had been aimed for his shin. “Katie, really, respect your elders.”

 

“You’re not the boss of me,” Pidge retorted in her most snotty, rebellious adolescent tone.

 

“Except when we’re in Voltron, then yes, Shiro, you are technically the head of us all,” Matt said with utmost solemnity.

 

“Were you trying to pun there? I feel like that deserves another kick,” Pidge said, making a face.

 

“You know, I’m inclined to agree with the little sister there.” Shiro laughed at Matt’s insulted expression.

 

As Pidge geared up for another attack, she caught sight of an approaching speeder from the corner of her eye. She stood up, staring around her brother to see Coran pull into a vacant spot near the front of Yathir’s inn.

 

He came out of the speeder, motioning wildly, telling a story with a great enthusiasm — a story Pidge recognized as the tale of her and Hunk’s mishap with the Queen of Thewnaus, and her secret (no longer secret, thanks to Pidge’s hacking and Hunk’s big mouth) affair with the wife of her Prime General.

 

“Interestingly enough, the duel called for Hunk and Pidge to participate, as they had violated a privacy law held sacred for centuries …”

 

Lance was laughing uproariously, and he met her gaze with clear eyes. “You do me proud, Pigeon.”

 

“No, not with that nickname again,” Pidge complained, whining to hide her fear of being discovered — her discomfort at knowing Lance hadn’t wanted them just a few days ago. But clearly he’d been having what Yathir had called _an especially brutal_ time, and he’d been angry and resentful, and she couldn’t blame him. Not when she had been ready to abandon Voltron, forsake her duty as defender of the universe, so she could look for her family … But empathizing with Lance didn’t make his words any easier to digest.

 

Keith pulled in a couple of moments later. Shiro rose to his feet as Keith slammed the door of the hovertruck, walking up to take Lance’s hand and tug him to the inn’s entrance.

 

“Whatever you’re going to say, Shiro, can it wait till morning?” Keith asked tiredly. “It’s been a freaking long day, and we all could use the sleep. Tomorrow we’ve got a big meeting in the evening. Final planning for the fight against Dras. I really need to get a solid’s night rest.”

 

Shiro had opened his mouth, closed it once Keith started talking, and then nodded as soon as he finished. “Yeah, that’s fine, Keith. First thing at breakfast?”

 

“Sure.” Keith sounded drained, contrasting heavily with Lance’s bright demeanour. “Right after dawn.”

 

Lance leered at all of them as he passed. “Sorry, guys, my fiancé clearly needs some alone time with _his_ fiancé.”

 

Keith sighed the sigh of a man weary of the world, but Pidge saw the hint of a smile. Lance took over, leading Keith into the inn with a sultry wink over his shoulder.

 

She entered after them, witnessing the awkward pause when Lance saw Hunk sitting at the bar. The two friends stared at each other for several seconds before Lance offered up a brief, hesitant head tilt.

 

Hunk returned it, but stayed quiet.

 

After that, Lance hurried up the stairs, shouting a quick _Good night, Yathir!_ He and Keith disappeared around the corner of the second floor landing.

 

Pidge murmured her own excuses and headed up to the room she shared with Matt. She got ready for bed mechanically, her mind adrift in several different directions. Her most prevalent and conscious thought process had to do with what Matt had told Hunk — and what she could do to ease not only her brother’s burden, but also that of Shiro, Lance, and Keith.

 

As she crawled into bed and stared up at the ceiling, she also had the realization that the gradual paradigm shift, the _pulling back of the curtain,_ had likely already begun within herself, Green Paladin of Voltron. Soldier in the war against the ruthless Galra Empire. She wondered what her worldview would be like in a few months … Or even in the next few days of fighting on this planet …

 

Lance’s message flashed before sleep claimed her, but she banished it to the darkest depths of her consciousness — though she knew full well that no corner of her brain remained obscured for long. She couldn’t resist picking at a problem, no matter what kind of pain it brought forth.

 

****** 

_Part Six: Keith_

_Third Day, Early Morning_

******

 

Keith’s first sight of the day was Lance’s sleeping face — slackened, drooling, faint whistling sounds emanating from his nose.

 

He stared for a bit, a smile stretching his sleep-heavy muscles. He reached over, wiping a trail of salvia away and cleaning his hand on Lance’s pillow. Then he returned to dust off the bits of dry skin at the corners of those closed eyes. Lance’s nose wrinkled up and batted at Keith’s hand. When Keith retreated, Lance’s fingers automatically wrapped around his, and then Lance tucked their entwined hands beneath his chin, falling back asleep within the space of a breath.

 

Keith drowsed for a few minutes, his smile shrinking into something involving less muscle strain. He watched with half-lidded eyes as Lance sniffed a couple of times, smacking his lips together and then stilling.

 

The sun rose, and Keith rose with it — he left Lance asleep, sure to be extremely quiet as he dressed; today, of all days, Lance would very much need to be on the alert. Neither of them could afford to be lethargic or inattentive.

 

He wasn’t surprised to see Shiro ready and waiting at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the wall with his brow furrowed and mouth pulled in a pensive frown. He hadn’t heard Keith pausing at the top of the stairs, too absorbed in typing away on his pocket computer, so Keith took a moment to just study his best friend.

 

Shiro had been one of the few constants in Keith’s life, and when he’d lost him for that year, Keith lost himself. He hadn’t bought the Garrison’s line about _pilot error,_ not for a second, but the fact remained that Shiro was _gone._ Even while believing that he wasn’t dead, Keith had been broken by yet another person in his life _leaving him behind_.

 

Which is why he was strangely grateful that he had been the one to go missing this time around. And even more grateful that it had been him _with Lance._ If Lance had gone missing, without Keith, he might have actually lost his mind in way that wasn’t fixable — not by time, not by anything or anyone — and Keith had no doubt that he, himself, would have died had it been just him, alone on this planet. Even with Yathir’s help.

 

Point being, he knew what it was like to be without answers, to be seeking and never finding — but he’d had the Blue Lion dropping hints for him, while Shiro had been left with _nothing_ for _nearly a year._

“Hey,” Keith said softly.

 

Shiro looked up at him, smiling. “Hey." He pocketed the computer. “Sorry, I was giving Allura an update on our situation. We’re all reconnected to each other and the Castle comms.”

 

Keith could write to Allura now, maybe even speak to her. But what could he say? Better wait until they were face to face — he had never been particularly good with words, but he found it easier when he could read body language and hear their tone of voice in person.

 

“You want to go somewhere or stay here?” Shiro asked.

 

“Let’s head out towards the corral. You’ll like the ikuril.” Keith took the stairs quickly, and then walked past Shiro towards the bar, bending to grab a few already peeled fruits from the fridge beneath. He filled a couple of canteens, and then passed the fruit pieces over to Shiro. He wasn’t in the mood for a heavy breakfast.

 

“You got a little more?” Shiro asked. “I … didn’t eat much last night.”

 

“Oh, yeah, sure. Sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologize. Did you eat anything?” Shiro gave him a pointed look when Keith’s stomach decided to announce, _Nope, no dinner._

“All right, give me a sec,” he said, rolling his eyes at Shiro’s satisfied expression.

 

Keith dug around and turned up some more fruit, a few dried vegetables (seasoned and very close to potato chips in taste and texture), and a couple of pieces of pie. They both ate the pie right then and there, and then gathered up the rest of the food into a couple of easy-to-carry containers.

 

The corral was about a twenty-minute walk from the inn, and they spent most of it munching on their breakfast of snacks. It wasn’t until they were more than halfway to their destination that Shiro spoke.

 

“I’ve been piloting Red for the last few months.”

 

Keith had wondered about that, but only briefly — a few spare moments here and there, but usually the pain of that barren link would instantly force him away.

 

“Yeah? How did … How is that working?”

 

“Well enough, but not viable long term.” Shiro tucked his now empty food container into a pocket, bringing up the canteen to drink from. “She’s pissed as hell at me for not looking for you every second of the day. But she understands the necessity of it. Sometimes she does a few barrel rolls when I least expect it — just to keep me on my toes. Or to annoy me. Can’t quite figure it out.”

 

“Probably both,” Keith said, fondness and longing both clinging to his voice. “Red has a way of letting you know _exactly_ what she’s feeling. I’m surprised she hasn’t jettisoned you yet.” Strange how he could talk about Red with such familiarity; he felt like he was wearing someone else’s skin while reminiscing about the Castle and the Lions. He had to hold back a grimace at the uncomfortable sensation, or Shiro would ask about it.

 

“Oh, she did that a couple of times.” Shiro laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Coming back into the Castle and getting spat out onto the floor — fun way to end a mission.”

 

“Yeah, well, the fact that she lets you pilot her at all, and for this long … Means she thinks you’re worthy of respect.” Keith shrugged, scratching at his own neck, tracing a scar there out of reflex — as a reminder of who and where he was. “Doesn’t surprise me, really. But kind of surprised she’s cool with your boring, totally not impulsive style.”

 

“Keith, I have plenty of impulses, I just don’t routinely _act_ on them.” Shiro shoved him playfully with his free hand. “Mind you, I’ve been letting loose a little more since … It helps with the bonding.”

 

“Yeah.” Despite the weirdness itching along his spine, Keith wanted more information, but he stopped himself there.

 

Red was probably over his head, right now, on the Castle. Normally that would be plenty close enough to reach out but … nothing. Pain, discomfort from a link broken abruptly and brutally. He shivered, wincing, and immediately cast his eyes towards Shiro, who thankfully didn’t seem to notice, as he was busy keeping his focus on the few people walking in the town. In fact, when Shiro turned his attention back to Keith, he was smiling.

 

They reached the corral and Shiro’s smile broadened when he saw the ikuril. “Wow, those guys look like they can _move._ ”

 

“They’re pretty fast, faster than anything we have back on Earth, maybe.” Keith perched on the fence, offering up some of his chips. One of the smaller ikurils approached, her lightly furred body a rich golden colour. She was snorting lightly, her long, rabbit-like ears perked up; the young ikuril sniffed at his hand once, and then licked up the chips with that wet blue tongue. Keith laughed a bit when the creature made a high-pitched sound, seeming pleased. She nudged at Keith’s arm, asking for more.

 

Shiro climbed up next to him, their shoulders brushing as Keith pet the animal’s head.

 

“You guys managed to survive without us,” Keith said without looking at him. “That’s good.”

 

“It wasn’t, Keith, not really. It got better after we found Pidge’s family,” Shiro admitted. “But nothing felt right. Not while you and Lance were missing. We had to train up harder than ever before. We put Matt through the ringer to get him up to Paladin standards and to strengthen his bond with Blue. His time with the rebels made that a little easier on him, but …” Shiro gestured up towards the sky. “The Galra have been damn determined to destroy us now more than ever. They sensed weakness after you guys disappeared. And they were right.”

 

Keith sucked in a deep breath. “Okay. Things weren’t ideal on either side of this situation.”

 

Shiro leaned into him for a moment. “No, they weren’t. But you and Lance … I had a lot of worst case scenarios in my head.”

 

They were based on Shiro’s own fragmented memories, no doubt, Keith thought to himself as he scratched behind the ikuril’s ears. “Is it as bad as you imagined?”

 

“Better in some aspects … worse in others.”

 

That stung. Keith turned his head away, glad he hadn’t bothered to tie up his hair, as it gave him the barest shield against Shiro’s stare.

 

“I have to ask …” Shiro swallowed audibly. “Back at that bar …”

 

Keith braced himself for questions, lectures or just flat out disapproval for how they let Fregola meet his end … Instead, Shiro finished with, “Everyone acted so surprised to see you on your feet, and when we first got here …”

 

“Oh.” Keith was now unsure of his footing. He didn’t know how to answer this without making it sound as bad as it, well, as it _actually was._ “I was hurt. So was Lance, but I was … worse.”

 

“You nearly died,” Shiro guessed correctly, his mouth forming a thin line for a moment.

 

“I’ve nearly died plenty of times with Voltron too,” Keith said nonchalantly.

 

“No cryo-pods out here.” A hand came up, gesturing up towards the sky. “You couldn’t get off world to Jacomir, or anywhere, really … What happened?”

 

“Dras,” Keith answered. “Bombs. Jorlack’s old place? We were inside when that happened.” He spoke over Shiro’s sharp intake of breath. “Lance got me most of the way out, but then another explosion and … I don’t remember what happened after that. I was knocked out cold for a week solid. I started waking up a few days before you guys found us.”

 

“God, Keith …” Shiro’s words faded out, and then he swept Keith up into a sideways hug, his face partially buried in Keith’s hair. Keith patted him on the back, and eased into the embrace, allowing Shiro all the time he needed to regain his composure.

 

When the older man pulled away, he seemed to have calmed down enough to speak without a waver in his tone. “I’m so fucking relieved you and Lance are alive.”

 

Keith smiled a bit at the swearing, wishing that everything had been said and they could both call it a day. But he knew there was more to work out.

 

“Why are you so angry at Yathir?” Keith figured it was time to take Lance’s approach to this — let Shiro get everything in the open. At least then they’d both know what they were dealing with.

 

“I’m not angry …” Shiro spoke slowly.

 

Keith sent the ikuril away with a gentle push on her flank. She went happily, satisfied with her snack and head scratches. “That’s bullshit.”

 

“Fine, I’m _frustrated._ He’s strong, he’s a _leader._ You two … you were under his care and he didn’t _protect you._ ” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, evidently losing it a little.

 

“Not everyone leads the way you do.” Keith tried not to react in anger, tried to keep himself calm. His defensive instincts for Yathir wouldn’t help here. “Yathir didn’t have to do any of the things he’s done to keep of us alive, but he did. Keep us alive, that is. That includes telling us the best ways to work and pay our way off this planet.”

 

“You knew we were looking for you,” Shiro said, a hint of disappointment not at all hidden. “Why couldn’t you just hold on until we …”

 

“Shiro, have I _ever_ been able to just sit on my ass and _wait_?” Keith barked out. He whipped his head back around, ready to bear the full brunt of Shiro’s frustration and fear. “In what universe would that have been an option for me?”

 

“But you had Lance with you, and I figured …”

 

Another sharp sting, this one deeper than the last. “You figured he would _tame_ me or something? Or that I would hold back for _his sake_?”

 

Shiro shook his head, lifting one hand in a _hold on_ gesture. “Keith, I figured he might act as a grounding force for you, but that doesn’t mean _taming you._ I thought maybe Lance would offer you an opposing viewpoint _,_ get you to compromise … But I can see that there wasn’t much either of you could do. Maybe I’m starting to understand why Yathir couldn’t prevent you from going out there and … becoming who you are now.”

 

“Am I that different?” Keith asked, tensely curious. It was one thing to have Lance reassure him, and yes, act as grounding for Keith. It was another to hear from someone who hadn’t seen him for a year. From Shiro, who had been his best friend, brother, and leader.

 

“Truthfully, you’re just … _more_ of the same. That hard exterior seems almost impenetrable now. You’ve got sharper edges, a totally unreadable poker face …” Shiro smiled a bit then. “But your impulse control? That seems to have improved. Your temper isn’t so quick anymore.”

 

“Only for certain things,” Keith agreed, and he finally held Shiro’s stare for longer than a few seconds. “Not so good at keeping myself back when I think Lance might be in real danger.”

 

“Lance … he’s definitely different. Not so much that he’s unrecognizable.” Shiro frowned, his eyes flicking towards the ikuril lazily walking back and forth in the corral, the riding beasts uninterested in them. “This place must’ve been hard on both of you, but …”

 

“It was harder for him,” Keith confirmed his unvoiced suspicion. “You don’t need to feel bad for that assumption. I had to watch him … I tried to help, Shiro, I really did, but I couldn’t exactly tell him to stay at the inn and let me do all the work. I couldn’t tell him not to keep guns under his pillow or just let those assholes get away with groping him …”

 

Shiro flinched hard at that last one, and his metal hand dug into the wooden fence, splintering it beneath his fingers. “Yeah … Did anyone ever … I understand if you don’t want to tell me, but Keith, since yesterday, I’ve been …”

 

His ability to run through all kinds of possibilities, entertain every conceivable outcome, made Shiro a great tactician and the perfect leader for Voltron. It also made him overly concerned, to the point of smothering sometimes. Keith stared at Shiro, waiting for him to make eye contact and hold it.

 

“Even though you’re really good at it, _stop_ worrying. No one’s managed more than what I’ve said,” Keith said firmly. “Trust me. We cottoned on real quick as to how to make that shit stop. You break a few fingers. Snap a wrist or two. No one's bothered us for months. And Lance sort of … learned to take advantage of that interest. He’s … pretty good at …”

 

Keith had no idea why he was blushing all of a sudden, his words faltering. Maybe it was because of Shiro’s abrupt shift from worried and vaguely murderous to relaxed and smug. “Yeah, he’s definitely refined his ability to flirt, from what little I’ve seen. And you two seem very happy together. Finally.”

 

Keith shrugged with one shoulder, unable to keep the smile off his face. “Yeah, yeah. It’s been …” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “That part has been pretty awesome.”

 

“So I figure, just out of duty, I should drop words like _safe, sane, and consensual —_ ”

 

“And you’ve dropped them,” Keith cut him off, glaring and hating everything about his skin — even with the healthy tan, he knew the pink clearly showed. “Now stop.”

 

Shiro laughed at him, and Keith, irritated as he was by the embarrassment, grinned back. Shiro then reached over, nice and easy, until a hand rested on Keith’s back, just beneath his neck. “You did what you could for Lance. It seems like you were good for each other. In keeping each other alive, and keeping each other stable. I’m happy about that.”

 

Somehow, Keith found himself blurting out the story of Lance shooting an injured, unarmed alien, telling Shiro all the ways he’d felt horrified on Lance’s behalf. How Lance threw up afterwards. How Keith had been watching wide-eyed at night as Lance sobbed into his pillow until _that_ night … because _that_ night, Lance had slept soundly with blood on his hands.

 

Shiro listened, his human hand radiating warmth, a gentle pressure. When Keith finished, wrapping it up with his and Lance’s discussion about what lines they wouldn’t cross … and how many of those lines they’d crossed since then, Shiro carefully put his arm around Keith’s shoulders.

 

“Okay, so you tried to keep to your rules, but this world wouldn’t let you do that _and_ survive. Keith, I’m glad you and Lance made it until now. Whatever you had to do to get here … may have been bad, but that doesn’t make you a bad person.” Shiro became both distant and forceful as he went on. “You can acknowledge that some of what you did was ruthless. You feel remorse for the lives you took. You and Lance both struggled with those decisions. Those are all decent indicators that you’re not the villains here. I don’t see you that way. Neither does Hunk.”

 

“Hunk is going to have to deal with Lance at some point,” Keith said, a spark of anger flaring up. “I’ve had months to sort of … come to terms with it. And I care about Lance just as much as I did back on the Castle. More. I can’t let Hunk hurt him again.”

 

“He’ll figure it out, but that’s not on you, okay?” Shiro inhaled deeply. “Whatever you might think of my reactions so far, it’s not on you or Lance at all. I’m just mad that I wasn’t here. Pissed off you had to go through it all. I had nightmares about the arena again, more than ever, but they weren’t memories — they were you and Lance fighting the monsters I had to fight. Or each other. Or me …”

 

He swallowed audibly, and Keith felt Shiro’s body tense, holding back a shudder or a flinch.

 

Keith bumped Shiro with an elbow, getting him to look Keith in the eye again. “Yeah, but we didn’t have to go through that. This was better, Shiro. I’m pissed off you had to go through that bullshit. Alone. We’re okay. You’re okay. It’s … you know, gonna be okay.”

 

Shiro snorted. “That was beautiful, bud.”

 

“Shut the fuck up, man, I tried,” Keith said with an angry pout, but he was grinning again in short order.

 

Suddenly, nothing seemed insurmountable, including Hunk’s fury, Lance’s internal struggles (especially during that week Keith had spent unconscious — Keith had only been told the bare bones of what Lance had done, and he _knew_ they had to deal with what Lance had faced alone), and what they had to do to put Keegin Dras in her place.

 

It would all be _okay._

“Now, can we take some of these out for a ride?” Shiro asked eagerly, his eyes snapping back towards the ikuril.

 

“Sure, Santral will be here waiting when we get back, and she’ll decided how much to charge us for it.”

 

“How does she determine the price?” Shiro had hopped down from the fence, walking gingerly towards the alien riding beasts.

 

“Eh, depends on her mood. And if her wife has had a decent haul in the last while. Chistrun is a hovercar thief for a local boss.” Keith walked over to the ikuril he knew best — a tall one with a scar along her right hind leg. He picked her brother for Shiro (the one Lance had named _Schwarzenegger_ ), and they both went with him comfortably enough.

 

“Interesting,” Shiro said, and for once, he didn’t sound like he was concealing anything — just expressing genuine curiosity. “So, where should we go?”

 

“Towards the next set of mountains,” Keith said promptly. “There’s a place I want to show you. Lance and I showed Coran last time. And then we’ll race back here because _duh._ ”

 

“Right, naturally,” Shiro said dryly. “Lead the way, Keith.”

 

“Thanks,” Keith replied once they were saddled up and ready to go. He hesitated for a moment, debating if he should go back to the seriousness. He felt like he needed to show Shiro how much this had meant, how much this had _helped._ “Really, Shiro —”

 

“No, thanks for putting up with me for these last couple of days.” Shiro smiled kindly. “And for making sure you and Lance were around long enough for us to find you.”

 

Keith didn’t have any other words to offer for that, so he smiled back and dug his heel into the ikuril’s side. Shiro followed him out, and Keith didn’t have to look behind him to know that Shiro was keeping up just fine. He knew Shiro had his back, always.

 

****** 

_Part Seven: Pidge_

_Third Day, Morning_

******

 

Pidge couldn’t really blame Hunk for hiding out in his room, but a part of her was angry that he couldn’t just get rid of the tension in the most efficient way possible — talking it out and coming to a reasonable compromise. Or understanding. Or even if they couldn’t agree, they could at least acknowledge each other’s points.

 

But then she realized this was a good time for her to just … be with Lance. She’d missed the idiot a lot. Nearly as much as she’d missed her brother while he’d been gone. She sat at the bar, eating another breakfast masterpiece by Yathir, and keeping one eye on the stairs.

 

Shiro had been gone when she stuck her head in the room he shared with Hunk, and so she suspected Keith would be with him. Matt had taken off early as well — he’d woken her up to say he’d be joining one of the patrols Lance and Keith had set up. That meant she could nab Lance for herself.

 

Pidge opened up her computer while she ate, smiling when she saw a message from Allura — _Your father and I are monitoring Jacomir, ensuring they do not interfere._ _Shiro and Coran told me some of what’s happening, but not all. I’ve read Keith’s messages from months ago, and I can’t imagine what it’s like for all of you, Lance and Keith especially. I suppose I’ll see for myself soon enough … It seems as though the situation is escalating. Let me know if you need me. I have clothes and weapons to blend in — or not, if that’s what you require._

 

She was convinced Allura would have added a winky face there, if she knew how to make one. Pidge was relieved because this message indicated that the princess hadn’t received Lance’s desperate, angry plea from a week or so ago.

 

Pidge knew she could ask Allura for help, and Allura would appear instantly — that was a good ace to keep up her sleeve. She wasn’t sure that Shiro or Coran would do it; they were too protective of the princess. While they were respectful of her considerable combat abilities, especially now that she’d served as Black Paladin, they made a concentrated effort to keep her out of the line of fire whenever possible. Shiro was more willing to use Allura’s skills, particularly if they would tip the balance in battle, but he often deferred to Coran, sensitive to the fact that Allura was all he had left — that they were the last of their kind.

 

Pidge was a touch more practical. She wrote back: _That might be necessary. It’s looking like a war is brewing, but not the conventional kind. We could use either your diplomacy or your fighting skills … Maybe both. I’ll keep you in the loop._

Lance came down just as she started in on a second serving of Yathir’s delicious cooking — because she might as well enjoy this luxury while she had it — and she smiled with a closed, full mouth, pointing at the seat next to her.

 

Lance’s hair was ruffled, as if all he’d done was quickly run his fingers through it, not bothering with a mirror; his pants and shirt were clean, though with noticeable stitches and stains that probably would never come out. He rested a hand on his hip holsters (a default stance, she’d noted) and smiled back at her.

 

“Hey there, chipmunk, you leave some for the rest of us?” Lance teased as he sat down and spun in his seat.

 

“There’s plenty, leave her alone to enjoy,” Yathir scolded mildly. “Keith left with Shiro early this morning.”

 

“Yeah, he mentioned that yesterday. Thanks.” Lance ate a few bites before informing Pidge, “We have a meeting later tonight, and I think you should all come, but … It’s probably not gonna be a fun time.”

 

“Kind of a war council, except we have no say, right?” Pidge surmised. “I get it, Lance.”

 

“Good,” he said, resting a hand on the top of her head. “Finish your food, Pigeon.”

 

“Once we do … can I, um …” She reached into her coat pocket for the one item she’d brought that had no relevance to the mission in terms of survival or scientific endeavour. She put it on the bar counter between the two of them. “I’ve kind of forgotten how to deal with longer hair.”

 

Lance stared at the hairbrush (which had a few hair ties wrapped around the handle), and for a moment Pidge thought she’d stepped over a line, but then he grinned at her, wide and excited. “Hell yes, I’m going to give you the most badass braids!”

 

They ate in a comfortable silence after that, and then Lance lead her towards a corner of the inn to a window seat, cushioned and long. She was able to sit cross-legged with Lance behind her. He released her hair from its ponytail and made a giddy noise. “It’s so _much,_ dude. I love it.”

 

“Don’t call me _dude_ … or _Pigeon_ ,” she said reflexively, but she smiled at the same time. “And do whatever keeps it away. I’m probably going to cut it when we get back.”

 

Lance whined. “You can’t, not when I finally get to play with it. I’m trying to convince Keith to grow out that damn mullet, but I’m pretty sure he’s gonna get Zan to trim his hair too, and then I’ll be sad. Don’t make me double-sad, Pidge.”

 

She gave a huff of annoyance, but Lance quickly quieted her with soothing strokes through her hair, his fingers gentle. A hush settled between them as he nimbly separated out chunks, brushing the wavy strands carefully. After a few moments, he murmured, “Most of my sisters’ hair was super thick. Curly. Only the youngest, Marisa, had hair thin enough to brush on the regular. The others I only got to style on special occasions, helping my mom out so we could get out the door ten minutes late as opposed to thirty.”

 

He resumed brushing for a while, and then he said, very softly, “Thanks for letting me do this.”

 

“Thanks for helping me out.” Then she spoke just as quietly, “We all missed you, you know. Blue shut down, wouldn’t let us anywhere near her … except Hunk. She let Hunk fix her up and keep her ready for you.”

 

Lance’s hands froze for a half-second. “I’ll thank him for that … How’s Matt doing with her?”

 

Pidge stared out the window as Lance turned her head, working on a braid just above her ear. “Matt says that she understands it’s necessary … But she’s not willing to turn over total control to him all the time. She’s given him a lot of flashes of you doing stuff as a way to explain how she works … He knows a lot about you because of that. Sorry if it’s weird.” _Or painful,_ she wanted to add, but didn’t.

 

“Nah, it’s good, knowing that she was being taken care of.” Lance finished one small braid.

 

She watched in the reflection of the window as he started on another right above the first — they were coming out in small rows above her ear, right against her scalp. His face was focused on the task at hand, not a hint of hurt, except maybe for his eyes, but it was hard to tell via the window glass.

 

His tone stayed light as he said, “It’s better that you guys figured out how to form Voltron without us. Universe might’ve gone to hell otherwise.”

 

“Yeah, but … we were searching for you two every spare second we had.” Pidge breathed out slowly. “And it sucked.”

 

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” Lance said, a little _too_ flippant.

 

Pidge reached back to jab him with a pointed finger, keeping her head still as she did so. Lance barely flinched, and she puffed out an exhale.

 

“Lance … It’s okay if you don’t want to get into it, but … what happened, right before we got here? I mean, Keith was clearly recovering from a bad injury or injuries, and so were you, based on that scar …”

 

Lance stopped braiding, his fingers simply resting in her hair. Pidge let the silence reign for several achingly long moments, waiting for Lance to speak.

 

“It was Dras’ first move against us, right after we stole from her, after I used her equipment to send that message to you,” Lance said at last, his voice unnaturally neutral. “She sent forces here to interrogate Yathir while Keith and I were at Jorlack’s. Yathir picked up on their plans to maim us, possibly kill us, and he reached Jorlack’s just in time to save our lives … But we were still caught in the explosions. Keith got the worst of it.”

 

Pidge’s muscles went taut at those last words. She, unfortunately, could imagine the _worst of it,_ based on what little she’d seen of Keith's scarring, and the mark on Lance’s face. “I’m sorry,” she breathed out. “I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner.” She cut herself off there — Lance didn’t need her tears. She shut her eyes tightly.

 

He said nothing, resuming braiding with that same soft precision. Pidge let it go, taking the quiet time to regroup.

 

Lance finished with a fourth braid and then switched to the other side of her head. She tilted the other way, now looking in towards the rest of the currently empty inn. A couple of minutes went by, and then Lance said, “I need to thank you.”

 

“It wasn’t just me that created those probes,” Pidge clarified instantly, unwilling to take all the credit. “Coran and Hunk helped, and Allura knew all the right places to put them, and we just … It was a group effort. Matt and my dad added some modifications —”

 

“That’s great, Pidge, but not actually what I meant.” Lance worked steadily, knowing the right ways to pull the braids tight without hurting her. “All that hacking software you loaded up onto our computers? It’s saved Keith's life and mine. Seriously. I mean, we used it mostly to steal stuff, but I assure you that it was pretty vital to our continued existence. You’re freaking awesome for that.”

 

“Really?” Pidge considered the kind of technology she’d seen thus far on this world. “It must’ve made short work of any firewalls or encryptions in this place.”

 

“Absolutely — they didn’t stand a chance against you.” Lance put a hand on her shoulder. “You saved our butts without even needing to be here. Freaking badass.”

 

Pidge grinned to herself, letting Lance work silently again, but then he started singing under his breath, words in Spanish spilling out and casting a soothing kind of magic on her limbs. Once he finished with the fourth braid on the right side of her head, he switched to the top, brushing out her hair again and then sectioning off one thick chunk.

 

She blinked at the wooden window frame, picturing young girls who looked like Lance, singing along with him as he played with their curly hair, and how would those girls react if they saw him now? Not just the scars, but every change that went down past his skin? The sadness welled up again, surging to the surface without her permission, beyond her control. “I’m sorry we didn’t find you faster, I’m sorry …”

 

Lance chided her with a click of his tongue. “Hey now, you found us after less than a year. You had a _whole universe_ to search, and you found two random humans in that vast craziness? Well done, _chiquilla._ ”

 

He was still so good at comforting at her, at providing her with the strength she needed to rein in her emotions. She reached back to rest a hand on his knee. “No, hey, quit playing big brother for one tick and listen … I know you had to do awful things to survive. And it did have an impact on me, watching you do some of those things. But just so you know — I don’t think less of you. Or Keith. You’re here, being annoying and playing with my hair. You have no idea how much shiny new tech I would have given up to have this.”

 

“How much?” Lance asked, clearly trying to go for a joke, but his tone was all wrong — his voice too hoarse.

 

“All of it,” Pidge said firmly. “Even my latest Rover, and he’s getting pretty close to sentient. I would’ve given it all up to have you back in _whatever_ way. And that includes the way you are now.”

 

She stopped for a few minutes, feeling Lance finish that one thick braid and switching over to another on the top left side, starting along the same line — where her forehead met her hair.

 

Pidge patted his knee once before bringing her hand back to rest in her lap. “Okay, back to big brother mode. Which you are, by the way. Just because I have Matt back doesn’t mean you get to slack as my surrogate older sibling. I need someone to throw wrenches at when they interrupt my programming time. And to trip in the hallways on the way to training. I’ve missed having someone that falls for my made up alien species and fake Altean words too. It’s been so boring without you, Lance.”

 

She started humming then, an Altean song Coran had been playing non-stop for the last little while. Lance finished off the thick braid and then gathered her hair back into ponytail. He hadn’t braided all of it, but when Pidge caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, she grinned broadly. She did look pretty badass. The small braids pressed against her scalp, above both ears, kind of making it look like she’d shaved her hair there. The hair on top of her head had been left alone except for two thick braids on either side of her temples. All of it up and away, no stray strands falling into her face.

 

“You might want to pull it into a bun before battle, so no one can grab your hair. Ponytails are risky unless you’re good at anticipating when someone might snatch them.”

 

Pidge turned in her seat to thank him, to try and whip him in the face with her ponytail and the many braids scattered throughout it … But she froze when she saw his face — the tears spilling down, over that scar, and his trembling jaw.

 

She ended up throwing herself into his arms instead. This was better than the first time she saw him on this planet, in this inn. She knew exactly who she was hugging this time — it was Lance, a little beaten, a little scarred, rougher and tougher about the edges, but it was _Lance._

 

Pidge buried her face right where neck met shoulder, and Lance’s arms came up, securing around her. He sniffed against her head, his face resting on top of her hair. His chest heaved unevenly, a few stifled sobs, and she clutched at the back of his shirt, her firmly shut lids unable to prevent one or two tears of her own from escaping at last.

 

“Hey, everything okay?”

 

Her eyes blinked open, the blurry form of Hunk appearing before them when she turned her head. He waved at her awkwardly, and then tucked his hand into his pants’ pocket.

 

“Yeah, we’re good,” Lance said thickly. “Just getting in some cathartic tears after breakfast. Totally normal.”

 

Pidge laughed, being deliberately incautious as she extricated herself from Lance's hug, smirking when he cursed and wheezed as she rearranged her limbs. “Yeah, catharsis, nice word — you read a few books between the heists and the high noon shoot outs, or what?”

 

Lance had her in a headlock before she even noticed him moving. She kicked at him, but he just pinned her legs to the seat beneath one of his. “Man, I can’t give you a noogie because I did damn good work on that head of hair. This sucks.”

 

“I am going to hack your room back on the Castle. Every night before you go to sleep — _bam,_ the greatest hits of 80s hair metal bands. Shiro has a _whole playlist._ ”

 

“Jokes on you, I _love_ 80s rock,” Lance proclaimed. “ _Hit me with your best shot._ ”

 

He let her go and then smiled over at Hunk, his eyes clear, and his shoulders straight. “I’ve got a bit of a hair thing going onto today if you want some rad braids up in your ’do.”

 

“Nah, I’m cool … Uh, I just wanted to —”

 

“Buddy, stop.” Lance held up a hand. “I’m riding a high right now. You don’t need to apologize to me … Save it for Keith.”

 

“I’m going to say sorry to him, but _yeah,_ Lance, I do need to apologize to you …” Hunk stopped for a breath. “Especially since … I’m still not okay with any of this. With what you’re doing. But you’re _not_ a monster. Neither of you are. That was way out of line. You’re my best friend. How could I have said that?” Hunk scrubbed at his face with both hands. “I suck. You need to hold auditions for a new bro.”

 

Lance took two huge steps and swept Hunk up in a hug. “No way, I already have the coolest buddy in the universe — and as someone who’s travelled across the universe, I should know, right?”

 

Pidge gagged loudly. “This is gross. I’m glad it’s all good now.” _As good as it can be, anyway._ She hadn’t missed Hunk’s inability to accept Lance and Keith’s actions, and she was sure Lance hadn’t either. However, she wasn’t about to call attention to it if Lance seemed to be accepting. “But please, this amount of sugar is probably going to give me cavities, and I’m not sure the pods can fix that.”

 

“Group hug!” Lance announced brightly ( _too brightly,_ Pidge thought sadly, but this was also weirdly amazing too — because she could still read Lance, could see that while he was an excellent actor in front of mob bosses and crooks, amongst his friends he couldn’t entirely hide).

 

Lance grabbed Pidge by the sleeve and yanked her right in-between him and Hunk. She fought him half-heartedly, trying for a dignified escape, but then Hunk had them both up and her feet were kicking at the air.

 

“If this is some kind of wrestling or training, maybe save it for outdoors, if you please,” Yathir called from the bar. “Oh, hello first Lieutenant.”

 

Pidge gave a battle cry and jabbed both Lance and Hunk at once, dropping to the floor when they squealed and squawked respectively.

 

Lance recovered quickly, calling out to the person Yathir had already greeted. “Oh, hey Zan! Whatcha doin’ here?”

 

This new person, Pidge noted, was clean, well dressed, and even had make-up on. He seemed handsome in an easy-going way, exuding a friendly demeanour Pidge found familiar.

 

This Zan (a First Lieutenant? Of what?) grinned at Lance. “Good morning. I got away as soon as I could — Brisha told me about …” He caught sight of Pidge and Hunk, his smile widening even further; Pidge realized the familiarity had to do with Brisha — Zan radiated the same kind nature that Brisha did. They even looked alike. Blood relation? He approached them with a hand out. “You’re Lance and Keith’s family?”

 

Hunk shook his hand immediately. “That we are. You and Brisha — you guys related?”

 

“She’s my younger sister,” Zan confirmed. “Though she does hate me saying that considering we're only three minutes apart. My name’s Czanliu, but feel free to call me Zan. Since you’re Lance’s family, then we’re friends already.”

 

“I’m Pidge,” she introduced herself, taking Czanliu’s hand once Hunk let go. “And this is Hunk. I thought there was no formal army here? Why are you a First Lieutenant?”

 

“Well, over at Denna’s, we’re ranked by seniority and loyalty. I’m one of a handful of First Lieutenants. We’re second-in-commands when she’s not around to run the place.”

 

“Denna’s?” Pidge had heard the name once in passing. She glanced over at Lance, who seemed a little … embarrassed? “Sorry, we haven’t seen —”

 

“Denna’s Pleasure Lair,” Zan clarified with an understanding smile. “The safest place in the five towns. Denna is the fairest employer you’ll find … and the most dangerous. No one messes with her. Dras hasn’t dared approach her, for one, which should tell you plenty.”

 

Pidge stared intently for a moment; this wasn’t the first time she’d encountered a brothel, but Zan seemed happy and healthy, and thus likely not unfairly exploited or mistreated. She shrugged and smiled up at him, glad to know another of Lance and Keith’s friends on this world. It made her heart ache a little less, knowing they had people who were not only trustworthy, but also _kind._

 

Right then, the front door burst open, drawing everyone’s gaze.

 

“Zan, hey,” Keith said breathlessly as he rushed in, winded, dusty, and smiling so widely Pidge almost didn’t recognize him. “Didn’t expect to see you until the meeting.”

 

“Well, once Brisha told me all about your family coming, I had to — I mean, I — oh, um, hello?” Zan stuttered, his cheeks taking on a purple flush as he caught sight of Shiro dashing through the doorway, smacking Keith on the back of the head as he skidded to halt.

 

“You’re a lousy cheat,” Shiro complained, but he was grinning broadly. “Oh, hi. I’m Shiro. You look just like Brisha. Sister?”

 

“Y-yes, I’m her sis — that is, she’s _my_ sister.” Czanliu made a face, his hand coming up to run through his styled dark purple hair. “Damn it. Shut up, Lance, you _could have warned me._ ”

 

Lance did not stop giggling, and he blocked a few half-hearted punches sent his way. “Nah, man. This is way, way too entertaining. And Brisha didn’t say a thing either, did she?”

 

By this point Keith had arrived at Lance’s side, and Lance fell into him smoothly, clearly indifferent to the dust coating Keith as he caught him up in a lingering kiss, which Keith accepted and returned just as effortlessly. Pidge chose to ignore the hand Lance dropped below Keith’s waist.

 

Zan appeared to be very used to this affection, continuing his complaint without pause, “I expect my sister to be devious and conspire against me. But one of my friends — a friend who I nearly brought on as Lieutenant to Denna —”

 

Hunk’s jaw dropped. Pidge blinked rapidly, still processing those words even as Coran, who had come in from the backdoor, announced, “Well, I’ve just befriended several wonderful aliens who plied me with many a compliment on my mustache — lovely to find kindness and good taste in all corners of the galaxy.”

 

“You almost worked at the _brothel?!”_ Hunk squeaked.

 

Coran came to a dead halt, his eyes widening momentarily. Shiro fumbled the drink Yathir had just handed him. Keith separated from Lance with a groan, two hands rising to cover his face. Lance just sighed, his head tilted back as he looked to the ceiling for answers, maybe, Pidge didn’t know, she was too busy parsing this new information and trying to decide what to feel — _other than her initial blind panic_.

 

“I mean, technically he did grace us with his employment for about a week,” Zan continued, laughing delightedly when Lance swore at him. “But only a week, to our customers’ profound disappointment.”

 

“It is _not_ what you’re thinking,” Lance said to the room at large, as Shiro collapsed onto a stool, Hunk’s mouth opened and closed silently, and Coran blinked quickly, his hands on his weapons, though Pidge wasn’t sure if he was aware of this fact. Lance rolled his eyes at their flabbergasted reactions. “You’re all pulling a Keith right now … Oh, _hey!”_

 

Lance suddenly started grinning widely, his hands seeking out Hunk’s arm as he dragged his best friend to the bar. “Okay, take a seat, it’s _story time._ ”

 

“No,” Keith moaned. “Not this again. Zan, _you bastard._ ”

 

“This is backfiring on me, I’ll admit.” Zan smiled ruefully. “I could probably recite this story myself at this point. With the same hand gestures.”

 

Zan imitated Lance right then, as Lance spread his arms outwards, fingers fluttering slightly. Lance completely ignored the teasing from his friends as he announced, “Let me tell you all about _That Time My Fiancé Thought I Was Stripping For Cash._ ”

 

“Except that right now, we need to have a conversation about the meeting taking place later tonight,” Yathir interrupted, to muted cheers from Zan and Keith. “And so I would appreciate you and Keith meeting me in the kitchen. Zan, if you would be so kind as to help serve lunch?”

 

“After the kindness you’ve bestowed upon us, it would be my pleasure,” Zan said cheerily.

 

Lance stuck out at his tongue, letting Keith drag him by his shirt to the kitchen.

 

Czanliu flushed again as he passed by Shiro to get behind the bar, a breathy _excuse me_ passing through his lips. Shiro just smiled wanly, clearly not quite fully recovered from this latest revelation. But Zan was quick to say, as he served up what appeared to be a veggie casserole, “Lance did not work for us in any of the capacities you’re probably considering. He came over once, early on, to ask about how we do business, and he told me he didn’t have the interest or mindset for my kind of work.”

 

“But he _asked_ and you offered,” Shiro said, sounding somewhat despondent again, though not nearly as much as Pidge would have expected. He nodded in thanks as Zan gave him a very large portion. “Might I ask … how that came about?”

 

“Well, joining up with Denna, it’s _safe_. Lance and Keith were clearly … not entirely comfortable with the jobs they had to work. At the beginning. And when I first met Lance, he’d just had an unsavoury encounter with Caspor, a local boss with specific tastes that Lance happens to fall in line with.”

 

Zan served Pidge with a charming smile, his eyes flicking back to Shiro’s in short order. Shiro’s metal hand had formed a fist next to his plate, and he seemed to make a conscious choice to unclench it, laying that hand flat on the bar, fingers spread.

 

Hunk became visibly stressed the more Zan spoke, and he seemed a mixture of despairing and angry, not unlike he’d been the day before when he’d been revolted entirely _for_ Lance instead of _by_ him. Pidge appreciated that. (She made a note of the name _Caspor —_ somebody she would be keeping an eye out for, and reserving some of her latest stun gun tests for, maybe.)

Coran had settled in at the bar, eating lunch with a thoughtful expression on his face. “What kind of gainful employment does a brothel offer other than the obvious?” he asked casually. Maybe a touch more casual than Pidge could fathom him being at such an eye-opener.

 

Zan grinned. “You know what? I’m going to let Lance tell his story — once I’m not around to hear it for the _two-hundredth_ time.”

 

Pidge opened her mouth to disagree with this, but she was interrupted by the arrival of several people, including her brother. Wesdru led the group into the inn — they were all bleeding, desert dust liberally coating them.

 

Wesdru slammed her shotgun on the nearest table, bellowing, _“McClains!”_

Matt grinned tiredly at Pidge and Shiro, accepting Pidge immediately whipping out her computer to scan for internal injuries, and Shiro’s hands instantly inspecting his surface wounds. “Been a bit of a day. Morning. Whatever.”

 

Keith burst out of the kitchen. “What happened?”

 

Lance appeared not a moment later. “Holy shit, Wesdru, if you look like _this_ , the other guys must be _toast._ ”

 

She grinned with a full display of her sharp teeth. “All but one fucker is nothing but paste. Dras sent a few forward scouts around the sides of the mountain. I’ve sent patrols up to the scour the top.”

 

“Any word from the other towns?” Keith asked, eyes narrowed.

 

“Just got a messenger in from Hutton — same thing happened over there. Waiting on Byothal and Ithorla.” She wiped the blood from her forehead so it would stop flowing into her one good eye. “Whatever you’re planning, it better happen soon. You smacked those bastards hard and bought us time, but it’s about to run out.”

 

Lance crossed his arms. “What happened to your sole survivor?”

 

“Ran off, but we clipped her good in the leg. She’ll be limping next time we see her — assuming Dras doesn’t kill her after she reports in.”

 

“So some intel did manage to leak,” Lance said icily. “Not your best work, Wesdru.”

 

“I protect, McClain, that’s my entire business.” Wesdru didn’t seem phased by Lance’s criticism, only tipping her head in acknowledgement. “Everyone made it out alive, but that skinny piece of scum was the price.”

 

“So then all the more reason to make sure everyone understands what needs to be done.” Keith glanced towards Yathir, who had made his way out of the kitchen and was now assisting Zan in serving food to everyone, including the new arrivals. “Patrols should double-up tonight. And Wesdru, we need a few _covert_ placements around Dagos.”

 

“I’ll go let my people know.” Wesdru took a steaming pile casserole, seemingly unbothered by her various injuries. She gave Matt a pat on the shoulder as she passed him. “Nice work, runt.”

 

“Thanks, but your guys definitely did the bulk of it,” he replied, wiping some grime off his hands with a cloth Yathir tossed his way.

 

Wesdru smiled again. “If you wanted, you could be one of my guys — decent pay, and I always have your back.”

 

“Tempting, but I have to pass,” Matt said regretfully, laughing when she shot him that three-fingered gesture Pidge still didn’t fully understand— she only knew that it was definitely crass.

 

Matt joined Shiro at the bar, sitting between him and Hunk, appreciatively accepting a plate from Zan and diving into the food with great gusto.

 

“Well, _shit._ ” Lance exhaled loudly. “I’m … gonna go shoot things until we need to go. Keith?”

 

“I’ll come get you when we’re ready,” Keith answered, taking a plate of food and shoving it towards Lance. “Eat this before you start target practise.”

 

Lance gave a half smile at that, accepting the food without complaint. Instead, he leaned in to press an overly wet kiss to Keith’s cheek, and Keith responded by shoving him towards the backdoor once Lance had pulled away.

 

The ease and warmth from when he’d first arrived with Shiro, the brief moment of shock when the brothel had come up — all of that was gone now, as Keith stood in front of them, his mouth set in a grim line.

 

“I’m going to explain the who and what of this meeting in more detail,” Keith began to say, dragging a barstool closer to him with one foot, sitting down with all of them in eyeshot. “But the most important thing for you all to remember is that _you have no say._ Not while we’re in that building. You’re outsiders. To some of the people there, you’re _fresh meat._ Just keep your mouths shut, and let Lance and I handle this.”

 

No one said a word, proof that they were all appreciating the gravity of the situation — and recognizing Lance and Keith’s authority. Pidge hadn’t doubted any of this. While the way in which Lance and Keith … The Two McClains … handled this situation likely wouldn't be something she could easily stomach, Pidge could understand it. And she had to obey, otherwise risk their lives and her own.

 

But she had a warrior princess she could play in case of emergencies. She had to let Matt in on that, ask him if he thought it was a good time to use that ace. He was pretty good with getting the lay of the battlefield, a touch more practical than even Shiro.

 

Keith began to spit out names and descriptions — distant shots could be heard as Lance began unloading with his weapons.

 

She made notes of the names being uttered; Pidge was sure that the records she had hacked free from Jacomir’s servers could provide further information, maybe some intel that would be useful for Lance and Keith’s war …

 

Pidge realized they were rushing towards a battle, but she felt out of place, dropped in halfway through a story with only vague images and notions of the characters and plot. Despite this, she and the others would help in whatever way Lance and Keith thought best … and maybe offer up aid that Lance and Keith had forgotten they could call upon.

 

And then they could _finally_ go home to the stars.

 

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, Matt’s discussion with Hunk was largely inspired by/paraphrased from these two blog entries by Myke Cole on PTSD: [What PTSD Is](http://mykecole.com/what-ptsd-is/) and [Getting PTSD Right](http://mykecole.com/31655/). I don't want to get into too many details, but I wanted to at least convey a general idea of what Lance and Keith (and the others, to some extent) have gone through and will continue to go through. Much respect to anybody who copes with PTSD. I do not intend to make light of this pain, but fair warning that I may also be taking some liberties as this is a fictional work that I intend to be a little happier than reality would be — I like my happy (albeit still likely bittersweet) endings, I'm afraid :)
> 
> Secondly, please, **please _click on the series' title_ and check out the series' notes — I've put links there to a whole bunch of fabulous art!** Give those artists love because they have created some truly amazing things! I am so awed by their wonderful abilities, and by the fact that they took the time to create based on something I wrote — and endless thanks to y'all for that!
> 
> Lastly, I am so sorry, but I've got some Real Life interference (a work related thing that suddenly sprung up), which means that I likely won't be getting the last chapter up before season three. I apologize for the delay — I'm hoping the last chapter will be up not long after we've all binged the next season, but I don't want to make any promises and then have to break them. Again, guys, so sorry!
> 
> Okay, wait, one more thing — if you've made it to the bottom of this long note, thank you again :D Sorry, everyone, I just can't stop being grateful for your amazingness. *all the hugs*


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is long. Way, way too long. But I stubbornly didn't want to split this into more chapters, partially as penance for making y'all wait a month. So here it is, and I am so sorry for both that wait and this _long as hell_ chapter.
> 
> A **quick warning** that this also gets pretty dark once again, in terms of violence and threats of violence, and so on. Also, my editing may have suffered because of the length of this final installment, so please forgive any glaring mistakes, and feel free to point them out to me.
> 
> You're all amazing. Thank you for being so kind and encouraging, especially while Real Life kept throwing curve balls at me :) *hugs*

****** 

_Part Eight: Keith_

_Third Day, Evening_

******

 

“Did Brisha get here okay?” Keith murmured to Lance, while keeping a discerning eye on each person walking into Denna’s.

 

“Zan said as much.” Lance gripped Keith’s hand for a fraction of a second and then took his seat. “And he also passed on that the delivery schedule has, uh, _moved up._ Dras wants all her people in the city limits a couple hours earlier than normal. So we might have to bail if this drags on too long.”

 

Keith grimaced, but nodded — if this wasn’t resolved in an hour, it was _never_ going to be resolved. These people weren’t the kind to mince words. (It would probably mean a rushed good-bye to their friends … But Keith couldn’t dwell on that; it was a distraction neither he nor Lance could afford.)

 

As the unspoken leaders of this loose resistance, they had gotten away with having their team here, all five of them. Yathir was back at the inn, holding that location with all the intimidation his mere presence provided, in addition to all his clever explosive traps. The other bosses were permitted two bodyguards each — one at their backs on the first floor of Denna’s, the other on either the second or third story balconies that looked down onto the giant round table.

 

Matt caught Keith’s eye from the third story, nodding solemnly and keeping his eyes constantly roving over the gathering of criminals.

 

Denna, respected and feared as she was, had all of her people bustling about — seating the bosses at the massive round table, serving drinks, and confiscating weapons. Czanliu stood behind Denna’s chair, just to her left; he wore a form-fitting tunic of dark, lush greens and amber, his legs encased in brown leather. One of his ears had a long silver earring dangling from it, and his eyes were heavily lined in dusky forest colours, making the silver of his irises shine brightly.

 

With his broad shoulders and unforgiving stare, he appeared quite formidable. Keith nodded at Zan, grateful for his menacing aura.

 

He had a bad feeling … Even though everyone held Denna in high regard, Keith wasn’t convinced this get-together would stay blood-free …

 

Zan tilted his head towards Lance, and Lance tipped his hat Zan’s way.

 

“We begin _now_ ,” Denna spoke, standing up from her seat.

 

The room went silent instantly.

 

Keith sat down next to Lance, casting one final look at the team over his shoulder — they sat at the bar, a few of Denna’s employees nearby, casting them curious stares. The bosses seated at the table also glanced towards Shiro, Pidge, Hunk, and Coran quite a bit. Keith was proud to see his team meeting the stares with nonchalance, though Hunk did so with a touch of friendliness, his wariness disguised completely with a broad smile.

 

Pidge stared at each alien seated at the table, her eyes widening fractionally, zipping across their faces as though she recognized them — Lance and Keith had described all the participants and given them names, but Pidge hadn’t said much then, disappearing to do some _cross-referencing with information retrieved from Jacomir._ She reappeared just as they’d had to come here, so they couldn’t ask what she’d learned … Keith knew she had enough self-control to keep her thoughts to herself, but he would have to ask what was going through her mind later. If they had time.

 

Lance tossed his long coat onto the back of his chair, and then struck a casual pose, throwing one arm over the chair back, stretching out his lean figure. Tonight he’d opted for the nicest clothes he owned — a clean, form-fitting white shirt with a plunging V-neck, and a tight, dark blue vest with light grey stripes. His pants were gunmetal grey, the leather discoloured in spots, but very flattering to his impossibly long legs.

 

Keith might be biased, but even with Denna’s workers lining the walls, also dressed to impress, Lance was definitively the prettiest individual in the room right now — and he damn well acted like it too.

 

Which drew eyes away from Keith, who had opted for his usual mostly black clothes, with the exception of his crimson coat. His hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, low at the base of his neck. He had knives on him, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think he was the only one who’d managed to sneak in a few weapons — and he knew Denna had full awareness of this fact.

 

“McClains, Jorlack,” Denna ordered, hardly raising her voice — absolute stillness reigned as she stood there. “Provide us with the information you promised, and then we shall decide the course of action.”

 

Denna was roughly Keith and Lance’s height, meaning she was rather short compared to the other occupants of this world. She had shockingly white hair, gathered up in a thick bun behind her head, and skin the shade of a sunset — an orange gold, dimly glittering. Her eyes were wide and high set, not unlike Akros’, but unlike that terrifying alien, Denna’s had irises of moss green, and they were consciously unyielding — whereas Keith was sure Akros had no emotions to conceal.

 

Her hands were clawed, her muscles exposed by the sleeveless, dark brown tunic she wore; she had scars like everyone else did on this planet, but hers were oddly precise, symmetrical, and Keith didn’t let himself think too hard as to why.

 

Jorlack was seated across from Keith and Lance, and he rose to his feet once they both nodded at him. The information they’d passed on to him secretly at his bar, the basis for their tentative plans contained on that memory stick — it would all be finalized tonight, and immediately put into action.

 

“Dras has been mounting attacks on the towns to scare us into submission,” Jorlack began directly, and those words were met with taunts, violent cussing directed towards Dras and Akros alike. “But that’s obvious to most of you. What she has _also_ been doing is weeding out intel on who belongs to which crew, our most vulnerable points, and whether or not she can redirect power to those who are more amenable to her rule.”

 

“Speak plain, Jorlack, not all of us here were edjumacated!” came the snarling voice of Hiljonu, an orange-scaled alien; his crew of drug runners had been forced out of their main selling area — the Powder District of Whiero City.

 

“She’s trying to gather up cronies to run these towns in her name, according to her rules.” Jorlack tapped the table with one finger, his jaw clenching.

 

“Only way to battle that is unitin’ under a damn good commander!” Ollewa surged up amongst angry shouts and swears. He had blue skin like Brisha and Zan, but his hair was a dark grey, and his eyes an icy white. “Outta all of you, _I’m_ the only one that’s kept her graspin’ fingers from my town.”

 

Gunthra laughed uproariously, slamming her arms down, the vambraces clanging loudly on the wooden surface; she hunched over, her smile razor sharp. “Ollewa, you’ve got some fucking nerve to be talking about your _cowardice_ as if it were a point of _pride._ You know who I trust to stand against that thrice-damned demon? _The people who stood toe-to-toe with Akros and fucking spat in his face._ ”

 

Keith and Lance could not have asked for a better opening. Lance turned his lazy slouch into a predatory lean, his grin lethal.

 

“Why thank you kindly, Gunthra, nice to know we didn’t get blown up for nothing,” he purred, and then winked at her when she leered at him.

 

“For all that your pretty face suffered, you deserve a chance at vengeance,” Gunthra replied, a hint of viciousness in her words. Keith tensed up, resenting the barb.

 

Lance didn’t react, didn’t twitch his expression, but Keith saw, from the corner of his eye, the way he seemed to turn slightly inward.

 

He could also feel the heat of hostility behind him — meaning their friends had not taken that comment lightly either. But for all that Keith reacted instinctually when Lance was in pain, he also knew better than to show an outward response when Lance was in perfect control. He grit his teeth and turned his eyes elsewhere — to Zan, who was excellent at maintaining his own neutral expression, though his eyes caught and held Keith’s, commiserating with him silently.

 

As Keith calmed down, his rational mind took the reigns — Gunthra allied with them, but she was still asserting her own independence, and that’s probably what the veiled insult had been for. Lance must have known that, which was why he hadn’t lobbed a cutting remark of his own back.

 

Instead, he spoke with all confidence, “Vengeance is going to be mine, don't you worry. We’ve got another lead, an inside source —”

 

“Remember the last inside source?” Caspor interjected, slimy as ever, his eyes having never shifted from Lance since the moment he’d started speaking. “We can’t rely on your —”

 

“Caspor, you really think that I would be stupid enough to risk everything _again_ on _one_ person’s intel? That explains why you still look at me like you’ve got a chance in hell at getting a piece,” Lance said lazily to a chorus of whistles and low laughter.

 

“Before we can accept anything you offer us, McClain,” Bos’Nar interrupted, his yellow, reptilian eyes narrowed, “you must explain your new … recruits.”

 

“Don’t act like it’s a mystery to you.” Lance didn’t glance back to their friends, his tone casual. “You know that’s our family from back home.”

 

Hardly anybody reacted to that, which confirmed Keith and Lance’s suspicion that word had gotten around. Keith kept an eye on one half of the meeting’s participants, while Lance searched the faces of the other half. From what Keith could see, no one appeared to be overly bothered by this … But that could mean nothing — Keith and Lance weren’t the only ones with good poker faces.

 

“They got a way off world?” Ollewa theorized. “Yet you’re still around. Strange considerin’ that since you got here, you’ve been gunning to leave.”

 

“Until Dras made this shit _personal,_ ” Lance ground out. “Now I’m not taking one step off this planet until that piece of shit is _buried._ And _no one_ can leave until that happens anyway.”

 

Lance and Keith had been very careful about showcasing their advanced technology, and thankfully their team had done the same. The planetary defenses Jacomir had set up were _nothing_ to Voltron or the Castle, but nobody here needed to be aware of that fact. For the sake of Lance and Keith and everyone else’s lives, that had to be kept secret.

 

“Would you be willing to take others off world with you?” came the voice of Liruo, a madam from the largest brothel in Byothal — not nearly so efficient or so kind to its workers as Denna’s. “I imagine you could.”

 

“No one’s leaving with us,” Lance said ruthlessly. “We’re not heading anywhere near Jacomir. Where we’re going? Maybe I’ll explain it, if we survive the next couple of days. Honestly, if anyone wants to come with us after I tell you what’s out there … Well, I’d call bullshit, but we’ll see. First, we need to deal with Dras before anybody can get space-side.”

 

“Which brings us back to this informant you have.” Gunthra drummed her fingers on the table. “I hate to say it, but I’m having some doubts, McClains. Caspor may be a slug, but he’s not wrong about that.”

 

“I’ll consider it a fair point when it comes from you, Gunthra.” Lance took his hat off and fanned himself with it. “In that case, we’ll share with you exactly what kind of information we have.” Lance turned his head to Zan, asking, “Your sister around?”

 

Zan nodded. “I’ll go get her for you. Her and her _guest._ ”

 

In short order, Zan had disappeared into a backroom and then reappeared with Brisha in tow — and she had a damp and trussed up Croliat marching at her side, clearly held at bay by not only the ropes around his arms and torso, but the small pistol pressed up against his ribs. Nearly all present buzzed and tensed at the sight of the weapon. Lance walked over, leaving his hat behind to take Croliat off Brisha’s hands. She immediately turned the gun over to Zan, and everyone relaxed … marginally.

 

Lance threw his hands up in the air, proclaiming, “Behold, our informant. But before he tells you anything, Jorlack, maybe you could supplement this story.”

 

“We’ve been sending raiding parties into Whiero City,” Jorlack said without preamble. “Dras has been chasing them off every time — but what she doesn’t realize is we’ve been leaving people behind. It’s a big place, easy to get lost in … Easy to plant some of our own in and around the streets of her base.”

 

“And what does that mean?” Bos’Nar sounded deeply skeptical. “Nothing really valuable gets discussed outside of their secure —”

 

“Except that we knew _exactly_ where Fregola would be, and we managed to sneak in and blow it all to hell to get him back,” Lance pointed out cheerily. “So, yes, we _can_ get reliable information. Cities are rife with gossip and rumours. You just need to find someone to confirm what the truth is.”

 

Croliat gulped loudly, casting Lance a baleful glare. “You said I could stick to the shadows. You’re going to get me killed.”

 

“Maybe,” Lance admitted with a fierce grin. “But you were going to die either way. This way you might end up richer … and a little happier, too, right?” The last few words were murmured directly into Croliat’s ear, but Keith heard them, and probably so did their friends at the bar, and the people seated on this side of the table.

 

From the bosses and bodyguards within ear-shot came significant lecherous looks, a few tinged with jealousy — Keith had no doubt what they were thinking … And they weren’t too far from the truth. Keith still wasn’t entirely comfortable with what Lance had used to sweeten Croliat’s deal, but it had been his choice (and _his_ voice); Keith just hoped like hell _no one_ from Voltron _ever_ found out.

 

Keith cast one quick look back at his team, saw them all still composed, and then refocused on Lance.

 

“Jorlack’s people found several interesting pieces of information, and Croliat here, thanks to some gems and other means of persuasion, has confirmed it for us — Dras _isn’t_ seeking out aid from Jacomir. She, in her arrogance, is going to handle us all on her lonesome.” Lance gestured at Jorlack over Croliat’s shoulder.

 

“But what this means,” Jorlack continued, “is that while she’s not planning on bombarding us with orbital canons, she has plans to eliminate all the major players on this rock and … start anew, I suppose.”

 

“Which would be everyone in this room,” Lance said sunnily. “So, it’s in our best interest to, you know, _kill this fucking demon._ ”

 

This was met with a contemplative silence. Almost everyone here had realized Dras needed to be taken out, but Keith realized saying so in what amounted to a war council full of all her enemies, _that_ made it more concrete, somehow.

 

“She’s got plans to kill most of you,” Croliat stammered, needing no prompting from Lance. “I don’t know what they are, only that she’s gonna act soon. Maybe go after you all at once … especially you two, and Jorlack,” Croliat finished, staring at Lance. “Everybody else is second priority.”

 

“What an honour,” Bos’Nar said dryly, clasping his red-scaled hands beneath his chin. “In that case, what’s to stop us from waiting and seeing if she’s satisfied with your deaths and thus leaves the rest of us in relative peace?”

 

Keith spoke then, drawing all eyes to him — he didn’t make a point of talking too much, too often, letting Lance handle most of the negotiations or bluffing. As a result, he’d developed a reputation for not wasting words, and for being fairly straightforward and honest.

 

“Many of you chose this planet instead of execution or a life sentence inside of a tiny cell. The freedom you have to do whatever you want, in whatever way you see fit … Could you live here knowing she’s ready to check you at any given moment? Make no mistake, she considers this _her_ world, to do as _she_ sees fit — and that means doing _whatever she wants,_ with all of you. She hasn’t called in Jacomir this time … next time?”

 

“And if we kill her and they decide to destroy us?” Denna’s voice rung up to the rafters, steady and strong. “She is their warden, and I can’t imagine Jacomir will let us continue on without her. Or perhaps, if they stop short of utter destruction, they send someone much worse.”

 

This was going to be the hardest part. Keith wasn’t sure they had enough high ground to surmount this particular obstacle. Not without throwing Yathir’s weight into this, but they’d _sworn_ to never speak of his former position. “It’s a risk, but they’ve been hands off. They’re _disgusted_ by this place, and if we go back to the way things were before —”

 

“Before you _damned us to hell,_ you mean,” Liruo cut in. “Speaking as though you’ve been here for years. Insolent little bastards.”

 

“You pups barely survived dem first weeks, and only reason no one killed ya outright was ’cause you pretty enough to sell for a high price,” Hiljonu grumbled.

 

“Hey, we’ve clawed our way to prosperity just like all of you. You wanna be mad because we did it _faster_?” Lance’s eyes shone dangerously. “Don’t hate the players, hate the game.”

 

Keith held back a groan only just. He heard Hunk’s own muffled moan, and what sounded like someone (likely Pidge) smacking their forehead with an open palm. He concurred with all of that. Sometimes Lance was _too_ himself; Keith cared about him more than he could say, but that also meant that he was very, _very_ aware of all the ways Lance drove him up the wall.

 

“We can’t agree to a course of action that will end in _all of our deaths,_ ” Caspor insisted, scowling.

 

“That toad is right,” Gunthra conceded, albeit with obvious reluctance. “It burns me up to consider bowing to Dras, but what you two seem to forget is that we’re about _survival._ ”

 

“So are we,” Keith said flatly. “Or we wouldn’t be standing here, leading this fucking revolt. Which wasn’t even a revolt at first— we just stole and got ahead, like you’ve all done. Dras decided to take it to the next level and we did, _again,_ what anyone else would have done — we matched her move for move _._ ”

 

“What your partner did while you were recovering wasn’t just matching her,” Bos’Nar said lowly. “He nearly _rivalled_ her brutality. Which, I have to admit, is a point in his favour. He may be able to stand against her if only by sheer nerve.”

 

Keith ignored that comment, silently glaring at the red-scaled man as Lance took over arguing.

 

“We have _no choice_ here.” Lance smoothly overlooked Bos’Nar’s derisive tone, shoving Croliat to a pair of Denna’s guards. He marched up to the table, both hands gesturing sharply towards the double doors — out in the direction of Whiero City. “She’s going to kill _all of us._ Are you going to defend your lives, or are you going to bow down to her and _hope_ she doesn’t chop your stupid fucking heads off? Like it or not, Keith and me, and Jorlack, _we’re_ fighting, and she sees all of _you_ as our cronies.” Many people shouted and jeered at that, but Lance steamrolled right over them, voice rising. “Go ahead, try and tell her otherwise! She doesn’t care enough to waste energy believing you. So. What are you going to do?”

 

There was a deep, dark silence. Lance’s face clouded, looking like he was two breaths away from threatening everyone with whatever weapon he could grab first — and that was normally _Keith’s_ role. He brushed his hand against Lance’s thigh, a passing, soft touch made to ground him. Lance released a quiet breath, his hips giving the tiniest lean towards Keith. Was it a hint of acknowledgement from Lance that he may be taking a step too far in the wrong direction? Keith couldn’t be sure — and he _fucking hated_ that.

 

“I’m with them Two McClains,” Ollewa said finally. “Can’t let that hell spawn threaten me, and won’t let her take what I’ve _right and proper_ earned.”

 

“Surprise, that man who Dras hates the most, aside from these three, isn’t interested in dealing with her,” Liruo said mockingly. “Maybe _you_ don’t stand a chance of negotiating for your life, but the rest of us _do._ What’s more, if we unite with her, who’s to say we won’t stand to gain? Maybe if all of us hand deliver you — these two upstart McClains, and Jorlack — we all get off _free._ ”

 

And _that_ was turning the tide against them, _fast_.

 

Keith reached for a blade, swift but subtle, his eyes darting to everyone in turn. Lance slammed his fist onto the table, allowing Keith to grip the hilt of another blade without anyone noticing, especially as everyone’s bodyguards loomed in closer, their hands on concealed weapons (mostly likely knives, the only kind that could get past Denna’s guards). Keith felt his team approach them, felt Shiro at his back, Pidge at his right …

 

“You are all deluded — death awaits you just beyond the doors.”

 

Keith jumped to his feet reflexively, his two blades out, just as everyone either ducked for cover or whipped out their own weapons. He stared up at the voice, a voice he hadn’t heard in _a year._

 

Up on the third story balcony, poised right next to Matt, stood _Princess Allura._

 

She smirked, her hair pulled back in her usual bun, but messier, strands escaping to frame her face, straggling past her neck. She wore a loose lavender shirt, cinched tight with a black leather vest that had various daggers strapped to it. What Keith could see of her pants through the railings showed more leather, more blades in holsters on her thighs. Her boots were up to her knees and clearly made for rough terrain. Her coat seemed to be a patchwork of materials, littered with pockets of all sizes.

 

Allura ignored all the weapons pointed her way, and when she spoke again, it was projected to all because Allura had _always_ been able to command an entire room’s (building’s, _planet’s_ ) attention with her clear and precise words.

 

“Thanks to my cohort, I’ve come here to deliver a message,” she announced, shooting Matt a quick smile before her expression grew severe once more. “You’ve been surrounded tonight. Dras has forces waiting in the shadows. She dare not antagonize your host” — here Allura gave a short bow to Denna — “but she is not so respectful as to wait much farther than Denna’s doorway to kill as many of you as she likes.”

 

Denna had unsheathed two blades that reminded Keith of a _katana_ and its companion, the slightly shorter _wakizashi_ (he had a thing for swords of all kinds, from all cultures and time periods, which Lance delighted in teasing him for), and those swords appeared as natural extensions of her arms. In other words, Denna could likely stand her ground against anyone here. Maybe all of them at once.

 

She stared up at Allura, her jaw set, her eyes dark. “You appear to be of McClains’ stock. Should we trust your word, especially as you’ve broken into this gathering with _no invitation_.”

 

Allura now cocked her head towards the door. “I would invite someone to step outside and confirm it, but it seems you were all willing to take the coward's way out — kowtowing instead of _fighting._ I’m not holding my breath for one of these cretins to do so. But you, my Lady? Would you be willing to test my words?”

 

One corner of Denna’s mouth quirked up minutely at the title Allura bequeathed on her.

 

Keith held his breath, not daring to draw attention back to himself. Lance seemed to be of the same mind — he waited, his eyes darting back and forth between the two powerful women.

 

Denna stepped up onto the table, striding across and then down the other side, the people sitting there practically falling out of her way. She walked to the double doors and her guards shoved them open wide.

 

Lance turned to Croliat, but Brisha already him at the backroom door, hidden from sight. She stood firm, gun back in hand, and Zan stood next to her, his own scoped pistol clutched tightly. His gaze was fixed on Denna, and Keith knew those guns would not be fired unless the imposing woman gave word.

 

At that moment, she stood in the threshold of her establishment, swords at the ready, and proclaimed into the night, “You who work for Dras — we know you are here. If you wish to linger in the shadows, I will find you and rid you of your lives. If you wish to have the smallest chance at continued existence, you will make yourselves known in the next _thirty seconds._ ”

 

A five second pause, during which everyone stared out into the darkness, and Keith tried to make himself consider alternate strategies — he, Yathir, and Lance had not planned for _this_ eventuality. Ollewa acting up and trying to usurp them. Liruo trying to rally everyone against them. Denna refusing to take part. All of these potential outcomes had been discussed between them and Yathir, but _this_ — Allura appearing, and Denna challenging Dras’ forces …

 

“We’ll come forward to talk, Denna. Let us through.”

 

Keith froze. Lance’s breath hitched. Shiro grasped Keith’s shoulder with his flesh hand, his metal one palely glowing. Coran had his guns and _how_ had he managed to keep hold of those? Pidge and Hunk straightened with their knives out.

 

Akros walked in, with at least ten others at his back — heavily muscled bruisers, slim and quick assassins — a few of these people were copiously scared and levying cold, poisonous stares towards Keith … and Lance. Mostly Lance.

 

When Bos’Nar had spoken of the viciousness Lance achieved during Keith’s absence, Keith had shoved it immediately to the back of his mind. He couldn’t afford to be sidetracked tonight in the midst of this pit of vipers. But now … Now he regretted not being more assertive in getting Lance to talk to him earlier; being engaged to the fool had made Keith _softer,_ even as the rest of him hardened on this godforsaken rock. How could Keith have left this vulnerability exposed?

 

Lance straightened his shoulders and discreetly opened a hand behind his back. Keith secretly pulled a dagger out for those long fingers to grasp; Lance made no show of grabbing and concealing said weapon.

 

It wasn’t vulnerability, Keith told himself. Lance and him both — they knew how to use the damage to their advantage, and bury the rest of the pain if it served no purpose. They talked when they could, when it would help, but if they didn’t have the strength, then it had to be saved for a day when they could spare the energy. And there hadn’t been any days like that for over two weeks.

 

Akros’ gang stayed close together, at each other’s backs, their weapons out. Akros himself kept his swords sheathed, and he smiled faintly as he opened his hands in a peaceful gesture. “This is rather upsetting our plans. We had anticipated assassinating a handful of you, if possible. Not all of you. Just the ones who are particularly … bothersome. Perhaps laying the blame at each other’s doorsteps afterwards.”

 

“Interesting way to run a war, Akros,” Denna said neutrally. “Revealing your tactics to your enemies.”

 

“Except not everyone here is my enemy, and they need to know that the plans have changed,” he replied _too_ honestly.

 

What was the game here? Keith _despised_ this kind of politicking bullshit. It wouldn’t matter, not in the end, but it pissed him off since Akros appeared so confident and unbothered by his failure.

 

“Your rather heavy-handed attempts to set us upon each other might have worked if not for some outside help.” Denna pointed up to Allura, who bowed again, waving a hand that also held a curved dagger. “Now I see that I have no choice but to ally myself with the McClains. I will not fight in your war, but understand this — anyone that chooses to fight for Dras, or at the very least, _against_ the McClains and Jorlack? _They_ will become my enemy, and they will be killed if they attempt to approach my lair or _any_ of my employees.”

 

Akros didn’t flinch, but Keith saw a few muscles jump in his neck, his arms — he’d come close. “I feel like that is an overreaction. We respected your boundaries —”

 

“Don’t patronize me as if my gate is the end of my influence and I care nothing for what happens beyond it. I am not _an imbecile._ ” Denna raised the tip of her katana blade, brushing Akros’ chin almost kindly. “Dras has overstepped her bounds, but I will _not_ overstep mine. Tell her that. And what’s more …”

 

She _turned her back on Akros._ Keith was definitely not the sole person gaping at her in awe — and _fear._

“To anyone that _is_ an imbecile — she will continue to try and destroy you from within. McClains.” Keith and Lance snapped to attention in a way they hadn’t since the Garrison _._ Since Voltron _._ This woman exuded power and commanded respect. “McClains, you _will not fail._ Your honour made you weak at the outset, but now, what little remains is your best asset. For we all know that you two would never betray anyone for gems or power. Especially as you intend to leave once all is said and done.”

 

Except Keith could think of several instances where they’d double-crossed someone. Where they’d cheated and conned their way to a bigger payday. But … a couple of those times, they’d been screwed over first and thus issued bloody retaliation, as expected. Another asshole had had a reputation for fucking over his hired mercenaries — so Lance and Keith had merely done it before he could do it to them. The other betrayal had been a favour for Wesdru, against one of her competitors. The fifth had been a condition of the job, and the bastard on the receiving end had seen it coming.

 

“Well, shit,” he murmured near silently. He and Lance … had never actually _outright_ betrayed anyone here. They kept their word mostly because it was bad for their business to _not_ keep true to their contracts; they’d stopped seeing it as a matter of honour more than half a year ago, and instead a practical choice. Now it seemed to be a tiny piece of leftover decency, a surprise to himself …

 

“Fuck this shit, let’s kill this whore,” came a growl from within Akros’ ranks.

 

“No,” he ordered, and that silenced one person.

 

But didn’t stop the other one, a tiny, speedy man with a two-pronged dagger, lunging from the side, towards the back of Denna’s neck … But he never made it that far because Denna had spun one of her blades, and thrust it behind her. The only movement had been her hand … and then the spluttering, coughing, bloody spit of her would-be killer hitting her back, as the katana lodged in both _his_ neck and _his_ knife hand.

 

She turned to face him, her sword remaining stationary as her body flowed to match its poise. She twisted as he withdrew, blinking once as silvery blood splattered onto her face and neck.

 

Akros frowned. “My apologies. Some of these are newer recruits.” He spoke with a thin veneer of regret, and a _strong_ hint of malice. Keith had no idea who it was directed towards, but if it were the new recruits, he would be willing to bet all of his savings that they would soon be _dead_ recruits.

 

“Normally they’re too terrified to openly defy you, Akros. Has the McClains’ continued survival made a mockery of your reputation?” Denna sounded politely curious, but her mouth curved up in a sardonic smile.

 

“Fuck no, we’re just _volunteers_ who don’t want to see anything change,” came the defiant tone of a huge, well-muscled woman, wielding her mace as if it weighed nothing — even though it was nearly as tall as Keith. “With all due respect, Akros, you told me I’d have a shot at the McClains. It’s why _I_ came.”

 

Akros seemed to be passionately but silently hating everything about this, and he raised one arm and pointed at Lance. “If you can kill him without everyone in this room killing you _first,_ then by all means.”

 

He had barely gotten the words out before this beast was charging — she leapt _way too high,_ practically over Denna’s head _._ Which was a huge mistake, as Denna sliced in several lightning fast twirls, hamstringing one leg and landing a clean, deep slice through the other. Gunthra lunged with daggers that protruded from her vambraces, catching one of four arms, and Caspor — _Caspor, of all weak, pathetic creatures_ — hurled a small throwing knife into her back.

 

She landed on her knees on the table, but scrambled to her feet, _roaring._ Keith leapt up and met her as she staggered, her hamstrung leg dragging uselessly — she was swinging her mace _too slowly._ He had both his blades up and through the meat of her upper arms, and then slicing outwards, spraying several people with dark red blood. Keith rolled out of her way, stabbing with one knife into her thigh even as he threw the other blade, right over her head …

 

And into Lance’s waiting hand — he had jumped up onto the table. When Keith kicked with his foot, landing the point of his boot right into her ripped tendons, she bellowed in pain, crashing back onto her knees. Lance lashed out with the pommel of the blade, striking her nose to bring her down onto her back, and she lay there on the table, blinking dazedly up at the ceiling, blood oozing from both her nostrils. Lance lifted one foot, pressing hard onto the base of his attacker’s throat. She flailed pointlessly, gasping for breath.

 

Keith stood next to him, one of his own feet keeping her down by resting fully on her torn-out thigh; he stared expressionlessly out at everyone — including Akros and his followers.

 

“We’re ready for her, Akros.” Lance glanced over to Jorlack, who nodded and lowered his daggers, clearly aware that Lance and Keith had this well in hand. “Gonna be a messy ride.”

 

“I’m sure that doesn’t bother you,” Keith said, spinning his blade and sheathing it nonchalantly. “Since I’m sure that’s exactly what she wants.”

 

Akros smirked. “You’re not wrong, McClain. I see there was no need to spark a fire here.”

 

“On our way to burn y’all to the ground,” Lance agreed. “Now run along home, children,” he said, directed at Akros’ scowling posse. The captive beneath their feet gurgled, surging upwards, but defeated instantly by the pain of her injuries. “Oh, not you, precious.”

 

Lance plunged down with the blade, and that silenced her immediately. A pool of blood spread quickly from her head as he rose up, yanking the knife out with a macabre grin on his face, waving a bloodied hand at Akros. “ _Hasta la vista,_ bastard _._ ”

 

Akros waved back as if they were the best of friends, and his crew, while visibly furious, stayed silent and marched out after him. Denna nodded to two of her guards and they followed, massive guns pointed at the backs of the interlopers.

 

A calm fell upon the assembled crowd, albeit rife with tension.

 

Keith glanced towards their friends and family. Hunk looked like he either wanted to throw-up or had _already_ thrown-up. Pidge was wide-eyed and her hands were fluttering on her computer; whatever had her antsy from the start was clearly still keeping her agitated. Shiro didn’t look happy, but he also didn’t seem nearly as upset as Keith had expected him to be. Coran hid his feelings too well for Keith to get a read on him.

 

A quick look up to Matt told him nothing — he didn’t know Matt well enough to figure him out. Allura … she seemed to be very serene about everything. How much of that was a front, Keith didn’t know, but at least _some_ of that serenity had to be a show. This was one of the worst ways Allura could see them after so long a time apart.

 

“Well, the special meeting table is going to be carved up for scrap wood now,” said Denna dryly. “Nice work, Lance.”

 

“Sorry,” Lance said sincerely. He hopped off the table in front of her, offering his hand. “I’ll pay for a new one.”

 

“Don’t trouble yourself with that. First, let’s clear this up once and for all, as my patience is now decidedly worn thin.” She faced the room at large. “The Two McClains will lead the charge against Dras. You all must decide on whether or not you wish to cross them and me, or Dras and Akros. You may even choose to abstain. But of these three options, the second marks you as _no one I will deal with._ ”

 

With the still warm corpse on the table, no one appeared inclined to disagree with Denna openly … But Liruo did stand up and walk out, bodyguard in tow. A few other smaller bosses made the choice to leave. A polite sort of nonparticipation. But the big ones — Gunthra, Caspor, Bos’Nar, and Ollewa amongst them — didn’t move a muscle. If anyone was going to side with Dras, they obviously weren’t stupid enough to publically announce it.

 

But Lance and Keith knew that, and their strategy (Yathir’s strategy as well) accounted for those who would withdraw and those who would stay.

 

A few of Denna’s people made quick work of the dead alien woman, and then Lance and Keith settled back in their seats. Allura stayed up high with Matt, and Keith watched as she merely _nodded_ at him, as if nothing were amiss. He didn’t know how to take that. He honestly expected another fight later, not unlike the one with Hunk. But that didn’t matter right now.

 

With their allies firmly in place, Lance and Keith explained their plans quickly, thankful that everyone already understood that the desert made it impossible to sneak up on Whiero City, even under cover of night.

 

“So, instead, we’ll already be there. In fact … Keith and I are going there, tonight, with Croliat. He’s got a delivery due. We’ll be in the back.” Lance smiled. “From there, we’ve got the people Jorlack has in the city, plus a few more we’ve recruited. It’s gonna be easy as pie. Yathir’s pie. So it’ll be _amazing, delicious_ pie to boot.”

 

Keith saw Shiro flinch at this announcement, but Coran put a steadying hand on his shoulder. Lance and Keith were counting on Coran to keep everyone at bay — this plan was risky as hell, and Shiro, at least, was going to _hate it._

“Our city contacts are going to ride out into the desert throughout the day, doing their usual business of picking fruit and hunting for meat. And that’s where and how the rest of y’all come in,” Keith said. “Because we’re going to charge up her tower and take her out. Easy as that. Once she’s dead, you all go back to your regularly scheduled lives, and Lance and I hightail on out of here.”

 

“More details await you the day of, because we’re not going to spill everything in one go,” Lance said coyly, coupled with a wink. “You make the commitment and show up at the assigned pick-up spots? We’ll give you _everything_ you need — but please, feel free to bring your own favourite killing utensils. The more, the merrier.”

 

They had an obscene amount of equipment and bought-and-paid for allies in Whiero … Mostly because Lance had used nearly all of their money — and they’d saved a considerable amount — including what they’d stolen from Dras. Keith had not been thrilled with that concept when he’d woken up, but Lance had convinced him of the necessity.

 

This would be a hard fight, but not an impossible one.

 

“Everyone clear?” Denna asked, back at her seat near the stage with Zan at her side. “Excellent. Get out.”

 

Keith was impressed but not at all surprised that it took everyone less than five seconds to get to the doors.

 

“McClains and company? Stay a minute.”

 

Lance stood up, stretching. “Sure thing. Just going to get me a drink first.”

 

“We’re heading down to you!” Allura called from her position up top.

 

Nearly everyone else was gone by this point, but Jorlack and his hulking bodyguard remained. He lingered by the double doors, waiting for Keith to catch his eye. “You boys ready for this?”

 

“We have to be,” Lance said, his swaggering persona diminished slightly now that he didn’t have to be so outwardly confident and infallible. “Make sure we’re not totally toast tomorrow?”

 

Jorlack gave half-smile. “Stay alive until we get there, and that’s a good chunk of the battle won.”

 

Keith smiled and Lance chuckled, finger guns up and jabbing towards their ally. “Damn straight. Now get some sleep for us, since we clearly won’t be getting any.”

 

When he was gone, Shiro immediately grasped Keith’s shoulder, asking urgently, “You’re going to do this _alone?_ Where do we fit in? How could —”

 

“Shiro, we’ve been planning this for a while now,” Keith said, omitting that it had been _maybe_ a week, if that. “And you’re going to have to trust us.” _Especially since it’s going to get much worse,_ Keith thought to himself, catching Coran’s eyes. The older man nodded, a faint smile on his face as he patted Lance’s back.

 

“Well, that was certainly … invigorating,” Allura said, emerging from the staircase with Matt at her side. Lance made a high-pitched noise, rushing towards her … and then stopping short. He turned away a bit, a hand twitching up towards his scarred cheek and then dropping abruptly.

 

Keith’s breath froze in his lungs, and his heart ached from the pain. He wanted to reach out, but then he caught sight of his own scarred and calloused hands. He understood Lance’s shame.

 

Allura’s smooth, brown hand caught one of Keith’s before he could hide it in a pocket. Her fingers had rough bumps from … sword training? Because Allura had been a Paladin now for a year, right? Keith knew she had been an amazing fighter before Paladin training, and now he couldn’t imagine how quickly she would defeat him in a sparring match.

 

He looked up. She had her other hand resting on Lance’s shoulder, and her eyes went back and forth between the two of them. She focused on Keith since Lance seemed incapable of meeting her gaze. “I … I’m so happy to see you both.” Those impossibly violet-turquoise eyes filled with tears.

 

Keith grasped her hand in turn. “Yeah … I’m … happy to see you too.”

 

“Lance?” she said tentatively, letting go Keith’s hand to give Lance her full attention. “Are you … are you upset that I’ve come here? Coran and Shiro didn’t know. No one but Pidge and Matt knew, and I was given due warning about what I would find … But you must know that all I wanted, all any of us wanted was to find you _alive._ Please, could you …”

 

Lance’s head turned every so slightly, chin dropping down almost to his chest. Then he raised his head and met Allura’s stare.

 

Her eyes flicked to his scar once. She smiled brilliantly. “Oh, Lance. You’ve grown taller. And what a formidable warrior you’ve become. You rival the ancient Paladins.”

 

The way Lance’s eyes gleamed brought a lump to Keith’s throat, but he swallowed it down, smiling while Lance swept Allura up into his arms, spinning her around as she laughed. The dark, battle-worn side of Keith knew this was a temporary peace at best, but tonight, he would take it gladly.

 

When Lance settled her back onto her feet, she grinned at him, ruffling his hair.

 

“ _Fuck._ Any other stupidly gorgeous people you’re hiding from me, Lance?” Zan blurted out, and then flushed a dark purple as Allura laughed merrily. Shiro grinned knowingly at Czanliu, causing his blush to deepen. Zan ducked his head, wincing as Lance winked at him. He covered his mouth, as though to prevent another outburst, stewing in his embarrassment silently. Keith made a note to tease him about this later. If there was going to be later.

 

Allura smiled at Zan, who missed it as he was currently hiding his face behind two hands. “Such lovely people here.” She looked proud as she said, “Quite the generals you are as well. I assume you’ve worked us into your strategy?”

 

“Yes, I would like to hear this as well, but first, if you don’t mind issuing an introduction?” Denna said from her seat, politely ignoring her First Lieutenant’s floundering. Zan leaned against the stage, relaxed now that the immediate threats were gone, and somewhat recovered from his mortification.

 

“Sorry, Denna, how rude of me,” Lance apologized with a flourish of his hands and a deep bow. “This would be mine and Keith’s family.” He formally introduced each person. Denna’s gaze lingered most on Coran, Allura (Lance left off her title, for which Coran looked extremely grateful), and Shiro. In Shiro’s case, she stared at his arm with a sly curiosity, but said nothing of it.

 

“These are not blood relations, I take it,” she noted astutely. “Coran and Allura — you are a different species?”

 

“We are, not that you would have heard of us,” Allura said easily enough. “And these warriors you see before you come from another far off world. This is very much … not our neck of the woods?” She tripped over the idiom slightly, but Lance gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up, making her grin again.

 

“This is quite fascinating. When Lance said there was more out there … and that no one would wish to leave once he explained …”

 

“A war,” Shiro said gravely, bringing the cheerful mood down. “A massive, bloody war. It will spill over to your galaxy soon enough. Once this business with Dras is over, we will tell you all you need to know. And come up with a way for you to contact us if you need our help in the future.”

 

Zan stood up straight now, and he stared at Lance and Keith, a shocked, somewhat betrayed expression on his face. They had never spoken of their past, and no one had pried outside of a few offhand questions. What good what it have done, when they were no longer Paladins? What help could they offer, especially considering that the Galra had yet to arrive? Keith nodded at him, trying to convey … _something_ apologetic with his eyes. Zan’s mouth formed a stern line and he nodded back, crossing his arms.

 

“Um, can I interrupt?” Hunk said with a half-hearted wave of his hands. “Just that Pidge has been silently dying next to me this whole time, while I’ve been outwardly dying, by the way, Lance, thanks buddy, for all the heart attacks —”

 

“Any time, bro.”

 

“— but I think she has something she needs to say, so, um, can she just — ” Hunk gestured to a red-faced Pidge at his side, who had her computer in a white-knuckled grip.

 

“Katie, you okay?” Matt asked, walking over to her, but she stepped out from under his arms, staring at Lance and Keith with huge, _huge_ eyes.

 

Denna laughed a little. “Goodness, girl, say what you must.”

 

Pidge exploded, rapid-fire words shooting from her mouth, “Do you _even know who half of these people are?! What half of those people have done?!”_ She cleared her throat, speaking in a calmer tone. “I hacked Jacomir’s prisoner records while we were there. After your debrief earlier today, I studied what I could. I didn’t have _all_ of their information, but what I did _…_ ” She inhaled deeply, her hands trembling as she held up her computer. “There was some pretty interesting stuff about, um, Denna _—”_

“I would very much appreciate it, child, if you did not expose my life to all and sundry,” Denna said simply, her smile still soft and amused. “But I see you must have some considerable skills in order to gain access to those sealed archives.”

 

“You … you weren’t even _charged,_ ” Pidge continued on defiantly. Keith wondered if he’d have to physically silence her, for her own sake. “And yet, you’re … here?”

 

“Some of us wish to pay for our crimes, as the reigning government failed in its duty to administer true justice,” Denna answered. “And that is all I will say on that matter.”

 

“Pidge, you know I value your opinion,” Lance said, nodding towards her computer. “Anything there that would help battle _Dras_?”

 

“Not … not really. Her crimes were … I assume you’ve experienced her worst.” Pidge swallowed when Lance gave her a humourless smile.

 

She looked away, tapping her computer with restless fingers. “Tactically, she appeared to prefer guerrilla warfare, smart spy tactics and quick assassinations. She sometimes dragged battles out to … play with her enemies. Stuff you already know.” Pidge sounded rueful, frowning. “The people you’ve allied with … Lance, the things _they’ve_ done … You can’t —”

 

“If you’re going to say we can’t trust them, we know.” Lance laughed self-deprecatingly, clearly understanding of her concern. “But keep in mind that whatever they’ve done? Those are the kinds of things that  _we’ve_  done.” 

 

No one said anything for a time. Denna respectfully kept out of their little discussion. Zan ducked his head again, but Keith caught the sad empathy on clear display — Zan must be tired if he couldn’t keep himself in check. Keith turned back just in time to see Hunk’s jaw clenching tightly, which in turn caused Keith to tense up. It was Shiro, in the end, who broke the stalemate.

 

“What’s your plan?” Shiro had an edge to his voice. “Sorry, I just … I’m getting antsy, not knowing what’s on for tomorrow. And tonight — you two are heading out?”

 

“There was a schedule issue with the delivery, so this is technically a little earlier than planned, but it’s all good,” Lance said, a quick and reassuring smile on his face. “You guys are meeting us there along with everyone else. Head back to Yathir’s tonight, get some rest, and he’ll fill you in tomorrow. Wesdru will lead you out to the desert in staggered trips to the large rock formations west of Whiero City. When the runners from the city come and collect you, that’ll be your way in. That’s basically it. Not too complicated.”

 

“What I’m fuzzy on is what you’ll be doing tonight.” Shiro crossed his arms, and then uncrossed one to gesture towards the door Brisha had disappeared through with Croliat. “Why do you need to be there?”

 

“Because Dras won’t expect us to move this quickly after this meeting, which we weren’t exactly discreet about. A few things about this little get-together were kept on the down low, but for the most part, we expected her to know,” Lance said smugly. “It’s all good, Shiro. We’re just going to be scouting out the terrain for everyone. All night. Which will suck, but we’ll have the most up-to-date info on the patrols by the time you all arrive.”

 

Keith was not nearly as good a liar as Lance, so he kept his mouth shut and just nodded along.

 

Shiro opened his mouth to ask more questions, but was interrupted by the arrival of Brisha, who was pushing Croliat ahead of her somewhat harshly.

 

Croliat yelped a little as he stumbled into Matt, who had a knife out and pressed against Croliat’s throat in the space of an eye blink. He withdrew the weapon immediately, apologizing. “Sorry, reflex.”

 

“No, it’s … fine. McClains, we have to leave now. You _know_ how —”

 

“Yeah, yeah, you want to keep your fingers, gotcha.” Lance jerked his head towards the backdoor. “We’ll be there in a few.”

 

“Only just being reunited and now you’re leaving already.” Allura clasped Lance’s hand tightly between two of her own. “You are _going to survive,_ Lance, Keith, _or so help me_ —”

 

Lance swept her up in another hug, and she squeezed him tightly. She let go only to grab Keith up in an equally firm embrace. When Keith released her, he saw that Hunk had Lance off the ground, his face buried in Lance’s hair. He coughed some strands out and said, “Dude. Please. We need more details. We gotta know how to save your sorry butt —”

 

“Yathir is gonna have the deets you need,” Lance said, sounding genuinely contrite. “I’m really sorry this is happening this way, but we've got to dash.”

 

Pidge made Lance bend down to her hug her, and he ran a hand over her braids, telling her, “Put that up in a bun, Pidge, okay? Don’t want somebody chopping off this mop before I’ve gotten to play with it some more.” She elbowed him, but nodded in solemn agreement.

 

When Lance pulled away, Keith grabbed her in a quick hug, getting her to jump a bit, and then snicker at his fumbling grip; Keith gave a small huff of amusement, and Pidge held him tightly before letting go and sliding down to the floor. Hunk gave Keith a pat on the back, a hesitant half-hug, and then an awkward full one — there was a distance between them, but Keith didn’t have the will or the time to deal with it.

 

“We’ll see you all tomorrow,” Keith said. He didn’t deny Shiro the hug — Keith let himself sink into that embrace just like he had three days ago. Just three days. After eleven months apart.

 

This could be good-bye if … But it wouldn’t be. Keith would claw his way back out of hell, _again,_ to keep himself and Lance alive. And he didn’t _fucking_ care what the price was for that ticket out of the depths. He’d been carving the payment from his soul for months, so what was one more piece?

 

Lance had collected their weapons from the bar — cleaned up, reloaded, courtesy of Denna’s people — plus a few other knives and guns because _why not?_

 

Brisha snatched him up into a hug, wordless encouragement in her bright eyes, in her sad smile.

 

After Coran got his hugs in, he whispered, “ _Stay alive no matter the cost,_ ” because the older man understood the real risks.

 

Lance snagged Keith’s wrist, starting to drag him to the door, but Shiro grabbed Lance before he could leave, stealing a hug quickly and decisively.

 

Lance seemed to freeze awkwardly in his arms before saying, nearly inaudibly, “I’m sorry about what I said yesterday. It was way out of line, and I didn’t …Fuck, I should’ve said this earlier —”

 

“Stop. Lance, I was too busy worrying about you to even register the words. Yesterday had some bad moments, and some good ones.” Shiro refused to let go and Lance finally gave in, hugging him close. “So, you go be the heroes I know you are. We’ll catch up with you soon.”

 

Lance nodded, not quite meeting Shiro’s eyes, though a faint smile tugged on his lips.

 

Neither Lance nor Keith looked back as they finally made it out the door. They walked briskly to where Croliat waited for them, impatiently pacing back and forth by his ride.

 

Croliat’s speeder was loaded up with goods; Lance and Keith squeezed themselves in between all the crates, and then carefully wrapped themselves up in a tarp. Croliat threw another on top of them for good measure. It was too cramped, too warm for the long drive to Whiero.

 

But Keith could see the glimmer of Lance’s blue eyes, feel one of his hands resting on his neck.

 

“So fast,” he murmured.

 

“I know,” Lance whispered back. “How’s your side?”

 

“Better with the massage gel,” Keith replied softly. “Keep yourself focused. I have your back.”

 

“And I have yours.” Lance leaned in, giving him the most tender of kisses. “And we will survive.”

 

Which was easier said than done.

 

Croliat arrived in Whiero City quickly, and just like they’d arranged with him, he pulled into a dark alley, a couple of streets over from his delivery site. Lance and Keith disembarked; they were both sweaty and aching from the drive, but wide-awake, thanks to obscene amounts of adrenaline rushing through their veins.

 

“You need to run,” Lance told Croliat. Lance was straightening his coat and checking his guns as he spoke. He’d left his hat behind with Brisha, and now he ran his fingers through the matted parts of his hair. “Get back to Dagos, if you can. Yathir will protect you.”

 

“I know …” Croliat hesitated. “But … you’ll be killed, you can’t —”

 

Lance hushed him with a hand to his snout. “Croliat. We know. You ain’t no hero, dude. Just go. At least you’ll have something to remember me by.” Lance winked.

 

Keith scowled, but he nodded at Croliat, who nodded back and then hopped into a different car — this one with tinted windows, belonging to one of the runners who made frequent trips into the desert. Dras’ lookouts would expect to see this specific car making a trip out beyond the city. Croliat took off, and Keith, for all that he did not particularly like the guy, hoped he made it back safely to Yathir’s.

 

The runner, who had donated his hovercar to Croliat, was waiting for them on a street corner just two blocks away from Dras’ building. He was bouncing on his feet and looking over his shoulder constantly. Lance and Keith pulled up with Croliat’s hoverspeeder and the goods he’d been delivering.

 

“Hey there, Tirya, how are you?” Lance grinned, acting like this was just a regular day, a regular run.

 

Tirya’s eyes were huge, and he gestured wildly to the main street behind him. “Bad, real bad. You guys can’t hope to make it. She _knows._ They all know you’re coming tonight, I don’t —”

 

“Tirya, take this car, finish the delivery before someone gets suspicious about it being late, and then find a nice place to hide in. Preferably a bunker,” Lance suggested, getting out of the vehicle. “No one needs to know you were involved in this. Thanks for the heads up, though.”

 

Keith watched the frightened runner take off without another word. “Wow, who knew that _Croliat_ would be the one to try and play at a conscience?”

 

“My gift to him must’ve left an impression,” Lance said jokingly, and then winced. “Fuck —”

 

“I told you, Lance, I’m not mad. It’s okay.” Keith grabbed his hand as they walked, completely undisguised, towards the centre street that ran right in front of Dras’ building.

 

Despite being the middle of the night, the city was well lit, always buzzing — and so at any moment, they’d be set upon. For all the adrenaline rushing through Keith’s veins, an odd serenity permeated everything. There was no going back, nothing to be done but let events unfold as they may.

 

Keith moved to let go of Lance’s hand, but before he could, Lance brought that hand up to his lips, brushing a light kiss onto Keith’s knuckles. Keith stopped walking, taking a moment to just stand there, staring at him in the flash of hovercar headlights, the flickering street lamps.

 

Those royal blue eyes, the scar he got from running back into an explosion for Keith, the pink lips he’d kissed more times than he could count, and the brown hair that Keith tangled his fingers in whenever Lance fell asleep on his chest. A flash of a smile, bittersweet and beautiful, told Keith that Lance’s thoughts matched his own. There was no one else he’d rather march into hell with. No one.

 

They both breathed in and out, perfectly in time, and then they both released and stepped back, resuming their walk with their hands on their weapons.

 

From around the corner came a pleased voice, “Well, here we are, that didn’t take long.”

 

Lance froze, doing a good job of looking wide-eyed and shocked. “Bos’Nar? What the fuck are you doing here? We said to wait until _tomorrow._ You’re going to get us —”

 

“Caught?” Bos’Nar asked with a smirk, and that’s when the two dozen gang members descended.

 

They had to put up a fight. They had to make it look good.

 

Lance’s pistols had put down three of them before they could charge.

 

People generally make two assumptions about fights involving a large number of people versus only one or two.

 

Someone with little or no fighting experience would first assume that superior numbers always win, but the fact was that they had to get in _close_ enough. Space was limited. At most, maybe four to six people could get right up to Lance and Keith without tripping or punching their allies by accident during their attacks.

 

And six people? That was easy enough for a trained, experienced combatant.

 

The second assumption was that a real fight resembles the movies, even slightly. That is false — movie action scenes are prolonged, choreographed dances. Actual, dirty fights where survival is the prize? They are fast, they are devastating, and they are over in _seconds_. Experienced fighters go straight for eyes, joints, and pressure points — the quickest, most brutal ways to down their opponents and _keep them down._

Keith wasn’t pulling any punches, and neither was Lance. Someone tried to eliminate the threat of the sharpshooter’s guns with a solid flurry of hits to Lance’s hands, but Lance knew when to protect his wrists — he dropped the pistols and then moved to stab his opponent in the shoulders with two concealed knives. A solid twist killed the nerves and that guy’s arms were now useless. Simultaneously, Keith hit the bundle of nerves at another thug’s knee, twirling to stab with his other knife at the elbow that had been gunning for his head.

 

This would be when Keith knew their time was limited. Lance wasn’t nearly as good as Keith with knives, though he could hold his own for several minutes, if he wasn’t already wounded or tired. Or both, in this case.

 

Keith stabbed down into two feet belonging to an asshole who had tried to stab Lance’s back, which was such a stupid move. Keith didn’t fully register the click of the gun until Lance yelled, “Keith!”

 

He jumped up from his crouch, staring as Bos’Nar pressed the gun to Lance’s temple hard enough to bruise. He grinned wickedly. “You never fail to impress, McClains.”

 

During his stay on this godforsaken world, Keith had learned to _never_ challenge someone while they had a weapon pointed at you or someone you cared about. He knew that Dras wanted them alive, but if Keith tried to pull that card, Bos’Nar would just shoot out one of their knees. It was a tactic Keith and Lance had used themselves.

 

Keith dropped his blades, standing up with his hands wide apart, palms facing Bos’Nar.

 

Lance smiled apologetically. Keith struggled to smile back, and it wasn’t difficult to feign fear — not while there was a _loaded_ gun right against Lance’s head.

 

He didn’t flinch when rough hands grabbed his arms, violently tying his wrists together behind his back. When he was restrained, the gun was trained on him instead (which Keith found infinitely better), while Lance was similarly bound.

 

“You two could have had the kind of power to get you off this world, easy, and instead …” Bos’Nar shook his head, signalling his cronies (of which only seven were left standing, and two of those seven were limping noticeably). “But —”

 

“Fuck, _don’t even start_ — we’ve had our fair share of megalomaniacal assholes spouting their woulda-coulda-shoulda’s at us,” Lance interrupted harshly. “We’ve faced an _empire's worth_. Dras is a speck to them, and what do you think that makes _you_ in comparison?”

 

Keith expected the hard punch, but he couldn’t stop himself from cursing, from trying to break away from his captors as Lance’s head was knocked back from the blow, blood spurting from a fresh cut to his cheek. Keith was kicked viciously in the back for his trouble, and he hissed his pain out between his teeth. None of this stopped him from glaring malevolently at Bos’Nar.

 

“We know how vain you are, McClain — if you aren’t careful, they’ll be no salvaging that face of yours, marred as it is already,” Bos’Nar said lightly, a nasty, false sympathy in his tone.

 

They were marched at gunpoint into Dras’ building.

 

Right through the front doors, past security. Into the elevators. Up towards the holding cells, near the middle of the tower.

 

Lance cast Keith what appeared to be a frightened, cowed look — however, those blue eyes were gleaming not with fear but with _triumph._

 

The plan had gone off without a hitch so far. They would need their allies for the rest to fall into place. Now that their friends and family were involved, Keith felt a certain kind of cautious optimism — the kind that came from knowing your friends were fearsome, kick-ass warriors who would fight to the death to save your life.

 

And he and Lance were going to really, _really_ need that kind of aid very, _very_ soon.

 

******

_Part Nine: Pidge_

_Fourth Day, Dawn_

******

 

When Yathir went to each of their rooms to wake them up, he didn’t seem surprised to find them already dressed and mobilized.

 

Pidge had slept maybe two hours the night before, but she was wide-awake and eager to get out there. To find Lance and Keith, and _end this_. To maybe find her own kind of special vengeance against Dras.

 

When they all got downstairs, it was to the sight of nearly everyone Lance and Keith considered friend or ally: Zan, Brisha, Wesdru and her gang, and … _Croliat_? Why was _he_ here? Pidge’s heart started beating in double-time.

 

Yathir held up two hands before they could ask any questions. Coran took a seat at a table near the door, stretching his legs out as he carefully took stock of his weapons. Pidge’s bad feeling grew in potency, triggering her adrenaline.

 

“You need to remember what Lance and Keith had you promise.” Yathir had a few plates of food laid out, and he was serving drinks as though this were a normal morning. “You need to stay calm and _listen to everything I have to say._ ”

 

“Oh no, oh no no _no_ ,” Hunk moaned, both hands coming up to his face.

 

Allura had her hands on Pidge and Hunk’s shoulders, her grip painfully tight. “What’s happened?”

 

Shiro stood as still as a statue at her side, eyes wide and hyper focused.

 

“The plan went exactly as expected,” Yathir said firmly. “And what that means is that Lance and Keith have been betrayed and captured —”

 

 _“What?”_ Shiro burst into motion, but Coran was there, blocking the door.

 

Shiro stopped in his tracks abruptly, causing Pidge and Matt to run into his back rather comically — if anything could be funny right now. Which it couldn’t. But Shiro, once he realized Coran wasn’t moving, immediately tried to get past him — and found himself summarily locked into a wrestling hold that wasn’t breaking, despite his best efforts.

 

“We are going to save them,” Coran said calmly into Shiro’s ear. “But first you need to hear the plan. Yathir will explain.”

 

It took a moment for Shiro to relax, but once he did, Coran released him and stayed poised by the door, his eyes cutting to each of them in turn. Pidge hadn’t really ever seen Coran _fight_ before, not unless his silly play-bouts with Lance counted. Shiro rubbed his forearms, giving Coran a baleful glare, but he nodded his assent, keeping himself in one place and waiting, though maybe not necessarily patiently.

 

“Coran,” Allura snapped sternly. “Tell us.”

 

“First you all need to settle down and listen without running off.” Coran indicated a few empty chairs and barstools.

 

Pidge grabbed onto Matt’s arm, squeezing tightly, mostly to keep herself from doing exactly what Coran said not to do — _blazing out that door to find Lance and Keith and bring them home once and for all._

Shiro grit his teeth but grabbed a seat, nearly slamming the chair down before he sat in it. Allura took up a position at his side, half sitting on the table. Hunk collapsed onto a barstool, near Brisha, and Matt pulled Pidge over there as well, letting her sit while he reached over her head to grab a drink from Yathir.

 

Coran nodded to Yathir, who continued speaking, “Lance and Keith needed a way into a specific area of Dras’ headquarters, and this was the most straightforward way to achieve that. They’re being held on the twentieth floor, right near the centre, and they’re going to need us to provide a distraction so they can escape.”

 

“What was the _point_ of getting captured if they —” Pidge began.

 

“They don’t need to escape the building, just their cells,” Yathir continued, right over Pidge’s question. “When Lance captured Fregola, he and his people also planted several key items Lance and Keith would need later. And if I’m not mistaken, Croliat, you passed on more to Tirya last night?”

 

Croliat nodded quickly. “It should all be there!”

 

Shiro stood up from his chair, unable to stay seated. Coran squared his shoulders, but Shiro didn’t make for the door again, simply asking, “What’s the play?”

 

“We go in as Lance and Keith described the day before,” Yathir said, and he smiled when Pidge gave in and started eating at Matt’s urging. She knew that she would need the fuel. “Then we wreak havoc. There are easy ways into the building, just not up to the top floors, at least not without many casualties. Our distraction should redirect some attention away from Lance and Keith, and they should be able to initialize the next part of the plan.”

 

“Which is what, exactly?” Allura inquired, her impatience clear.

 

Wesdru guffawed. “Well, they’re gonna pay Dras back for what she and Akros pulled a couple of weeks ago. They’re gonna drag her out to die where everyone to see.”

 

“I’m not clear on the how,” Matt said with a frown. “Specifically, how are they going to grab Dras from her well-protected tower, and how will we know they’ve done it?”

 

“The first stage will involve Lance and Keith meeting our teams once they escape. When we see them again, we know that part one of the plan was a success.”

 

Pidge appreciated Yathir not even hesitating as he said _when,_ not _if we see them again._

“They’ll split off from us again to head into Dras’ personal sanctum, and so, as to the entire goal of this attack … We’ll know whether or not they've succeeded in a fairly straightforward way — there will an obvious signal that will come from the top of the tower,” Yathir said peaceably. As he was speaking, he had begun to reach under the counter, and was now laying out a truly alarming amount of weapons. Then he began to strap them to his person. “Allura, Coran mentioned to me that you arrived here on a small stealth ship?”

 

Pidge blinked. She hadn’t thought to ask how Allura had journeyed down to the planet, too busy worrying over Lance and Keith. “You used one of my prototypes?”

 

“Yes, sorry for not asking permission, Pidge, but it seemed the best way to come down unnoticed.” Allura smiled ruefully, and Pidge instantly forgave her — normally, she grew highly irritated when others interfered with her works-in-progress, but right now, Pidge couldn’t care less.

 

“Then there is something I’d like to ask of you.” Yathir attached several grenades onto a belt strapped diagonally across his torso. “The plan originally called for Telliya to pilot a ship that Lance and Keith purchased at considerable cost. It’s small and easy to hide in Whiero City until the right moment. But with your ship, concealing it won’t even be necessary — we can save precious time, and be ready to grab Lance and Keith as soon as they need us.”

 

Allura stared, and then crossed her arms. “I’ll be piloting the ship then. Your people won’t know how to —”

 

“Allura,” Coran started.

 

“Princess, maybe —” Shiro tried.

 

“No, _I am going to do this._ Unless, Pidge, would you like to —”

 

Pidge shook her head. “No, I think you’re a better pilot than me when it comes to the shuttles. But do you want me as co-pilot in case —”

 

Matt cut in here, “Actually, that sounds like a great idea. You two be our eyes in the sky, hidden, and you can provide even more chaos by firing intermittently, but _do not_ reveal your location.”

 

“The rest of us will be ground forces then,” Shiro said, seemingly resigned to these decisions being out of his hands.

 

Pidge cleared her throat. “Allura, did you bring us the comms?”

 

“Yes, I did.” She let loose an Altean curse. “I didn’t think to offer them to Lance and Keith. _Quiznak,_ what was I thinking?” She reached into her coat pockets, removing several tiny ear communication devices. She held them in her open hand, staring down at them with a countenance full of self-loathing and regret.

 

Pidge cussed loudly, smacking her own forehead. She had been so caught up in matching crimes to the faces at the meeting, taking in every moment, every word and expression, shocked at how easily Lance and Keith had corralled these terrifying crime lords … She had _completely forgotten_ that Allura had comms with her that could have kept them in contact with Lance and Keith during their part of this attack. _Fuck, damn it all to hell._

 

“You were seeing them for the first time in a year,” Coran said kindly. “And to be honest, it’s probably for the best — Dras might have detected them and confiscated them. If not, the possibility of them being on during … whatever interrogation or …”

 

Everyone stared at the comms in varying degrees of horror. Pidge shivered, her stomach rolling. _Okay. Coran might have a good point._

 

Hunk took in several uneven breaths. Shiro … Shiro went decidedly _blank,_ saying, “You’re right, that would be too much of a distraction for us. We wouldn’t be able to stay on task, overhearing that.”

 

Allura swallowed hard, taking a moment before speaking again. “We can give them to Lance and Keith _when_ we see them again. And there are a few extra, for …” She trailed off, looking to Yathir.

 

He pointed at various people, and Allura moved to offer them each a communication device as he said, “Myself, Brisha, Wesdru, Zan. These will be incredibly useful. Are they secure?”

 

Allura nodded. “We’re using our main ship’s network to link them, and _no one_ can hack that. Not unless they’re as good as Pidge.”

 

Yathir smiled. “In that case, I feel well assured. Coordination will be far easier. Instead of relying solely on signals,” he said to the group at large, “we’ll be in immediate contact.” He faced Shiro and Allura again. “We’re leading separate factions to strike at different points. If you wish to be part of the detail that’s going to facilitate Lance and Keith’s release and see them before the next stage of this assault, then you’ll want to be with Brisha.”

 

“If you think that’s where we can do the most good, we’re there,” Shiro said, accepting three comms from Allura — one for himself and two for Lance and Keith. He sounded calmer now that the plans were laid out in front of him, and also willing to take Yathir’s orders, which relaxed Pidge. She still wasn’t sure about him, but she knew the older alien was ready to fight to the death to get Lance and Keith back alive, and that was all Pidge needed from him at the moment.

 

“I think it’s going to be the most challenging mission, so yes, please, do what you can. Pidge, your hacking software is fairly advanced — you say you got through Jacomir’s security without any problems?” Yathir asked for confirmation and Pidge nodded. “Then, would you be willing to pass on that software to Brisha’s computer?”

 

“Do you have a memory stick?” Pidge cued up the software on her computer, downloading it quickly onto the stick given to her, and then passing it along to Brisha. “If you need any extra help, I’ll be connected to you via the comms.”

 

“All right,” Brisha said, and she surprised Pidge by wrapping her up in a quick hug. “Thank you so much for helping us. I know you’re doing this mostly to help Lance and Keith, but it’s such a huge boon for this world too. Thank you.”

 

Pidge hugged her back tentatively, not so good with a stranger’s affection … But Brisha wasn’t a total stranger anymore. Pidge did her best to loosen up. She offered her most sincere smile when Brisha stepped back, and Pidge explained, proudly, “This is our job — to help people. This was what … Lance and Keith used to do too.”

 

“It is still what they do,” Brisha corrected her gently. “They’ve just been … waylaid, for a time. But they never completely lost their roots.”

 

“Almost got them killed a few times,” Telliya said gruffly. Pidge would not ever forget her vicious murder of Fregola, but she tried to listen without that colouring her thoughts. “They saved my skin when they didn’t have to. And I’m sure they’ve done that for a few others. Stupid kids.” This last bit she said with a hint of … wistfulness? She had said she could never forgive Lance and Keith for the role they played in Grisner’s death, but maybe she wished she could?

 

“We need to leave, now,” Yathir announced. “The runners are due to meet us shortly. Everyone, _out._ Shiro? You and your team follow Brisha closely. We’re all going to be entering the city with different runners, and it would be easy to get separated. Bring all the weapons you can carry.”

 

He turned to Allura and Pidge. “Get to your ship and use your cloaking technology to keep an eye on all you can. If you notice any unusual movement, such as large congregations of unmoving, stationary soldiers instead of the hustle of the city, or perhaps a suspicious pocket with no activity, let us know immediately where this is.”

 

Allura nodded. “Got it. Let’s go, Pidge.”

 

“Wait,” Coran said, holding up a hand. He moved to grasp Allura in an embrace, and then Pidge shortly after. “If we tell you that it’s become too dangerous, please, trust us and get out of there.”

 

“Coran, I understand your concerns, but I am the current Black Paladin of Voltron. I do not yield, least of all to people like _Dras._ ” She drew eyes with her fierce proclamation, and nearly everyone seemed a tiny bit in awe of her.

 

Coran gave a proud grin. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. In that case, give her hell from us Alteans, hm?”

 

Allura saluted him, garnering a pleased chortle. Shiro grabbed them both up in a hug, and soon everyone was shouting good-byes, slapping backs, exchanging weapons. The flurry of activity ended when Yathir bellowed (making Pidge jump as it was _bizarre_ to hear his voice _raised._ And _terrifying,_ he could project across _miles_ ).

 

_“We have to move, now!”_

 

“Let’s get our boys!” Hunk hollered. He seemed fierce and determined, and every inch a Paladin of Voltron. No matter what kind of ill feelings lingered between him and Lance and Keith, he would never abandon them.

 

Matt let out a ridiculous, _“Yee-haw!”_ and Pidge had to groan at him for it — but she accepted his hug as he ran past.

 

Shiro gave them all a final shout of, “Eyes open, heads up! No one gets past us!”

 

They answered him with yells, and even the people of this world, who had no real idea of who they were, cheered Shiro’s words.

 

They all burst from the inn, rushing to their cars and taking off. Allura darted out past them, hastening towards the edge of the town. “We can summon the ship down out here. I had it set in a orbiting pattern above the inn last night.”

 

Pidge ran after her, pushing a few buttons on her computer. Sure enough, as soon as they cleared the gates of Dagos, the ship shimmered into view. Allura all but dove into the driver’s seat, extending a hand out to pull Pidge in. The cloaking shields kicked in once the door closed behind Pidge, and they rose into the skies smoothly. Allura adjusted their position, facing towards Whiero City.

 

“I know we have to be cautious,” Allura said as she kept the ship floating above the hovervehicles heading out into the desert. “But I’m absolutely dying to test out these cannons you’ve modified.”

 

Pidge gave a happy grin and thumbs up from the passenger’s seat. “No objections here!”

 

“Allura, Pidge! Can you hear us?” came Shiro’s voice from within their ears.

 

“Loud and clear — we’ll be staying above you until you reach the runners. From there I was thinking we proceed to Whiero City and report back to you,” Allura replied.

 

“Copy that,” Shiro sent back. “Give us any information you can.”

 

Allura kept her eyes on the ground below, watching the cars rush towards the rock formations Lance and Keith had talked about. They moved about in small, separated groups, pausing periodically to hide. After nearly an hour of staggered travel, there were several minutes of milling about, quickly reviewing plans for entry into the city. In moments, all the vehicles were concealed beneath desert camouflaged tarps — Pidge couldn’t pick them out once they were completely covered, blending perfectly into the natural landscape around them.

 

Not five minutes later, the runners from the city arrived.

 

“Hopefully the runners on the other sides of Whiero are having this easy a time of it,” Brisha said. “Everyone from Hutton, Byothal, and Ithorla should be on our same schedule.”

 

Pidge whistled. “That is some coordination you all managed to pull off.”

 

“We all _hope_ we’ve pulled off,” Zan chirped. “But yes, thank Lance and Keith for that. And Yathir.”

 

“We’re heading to Whiero now,” Shiro informed them, a bit muffled. “You’re free to scout ahead.”

 

“On our way!” Allura shifted the ship out of its hovering position, leaning forward on the controls to ramp up the speed.

 

Pidge did some quick recalculating, worried about a glimmer effect from the sunlight of this world, but soon realized that she didn’t have to concern herself — her algorithms were accounting for any changes in light, and the Altean metals Hunk had used for construction of the exterior hull were malleable and highly responsive to her code. Pidge didn’t like using the word _magic_ to explain science, but sometimes, the kinds of things Altean technology could do …

 

“Pidge, do you seen anything on your side? Sensors detecting anything out of the ordinary?” Allura asked, her own eyes scanning the horizon and everything on her side of the ship. They entered Whiero slowly, just above the highest structures.

 

Pidge concentrated on the streets below — it seemed like a normal city from this height, no close-ups to the misery that she knew plagued every corner. “Looks fine, and my sensors aren’t picking up a high concentration of people or weaponry in any one spot … except Dras’ building. But I assume that’s to be expected?”

 

“Yes,” Yathir told her. “We’re about ten minutes away. I don’t suppose, Pidge, that your sensors can pinpoint Lance and Keith’s life-signs?”

 

“No,” Pidge said regretfully. “Not in such a densely populated area. And they don’t have the trackers from their Paladin armour to help me out.” _Shit,_ she should have thought of that before — she could have asked Lance and Keith if they still had their armour, and she and Hunk definitely could’ve fixed those trackers … But too late now. She grit her teeth and tried to release her frustration in one long breath so she could refocus on the task at hand.

 

“Right,” Yathir said with a sigh. “Well, I trust those two to know how to survive.”

 

Allura frowned at that and cast a worried look over to Pidge. “They’ve been here for several hours in Dras’ clutches. You’re sure she wouldn’t just —”

 

“No, she would want to make an example of them, and that takes preparation,” Yathir said straightaway.

 

Pidge did not dwell, even for an instant, on what _preparation_ might mean. She breathed out slowly again, and then told Allura, “Keep us in a holding pattern right here, over Dras’ building. Shiro, everyone — nothing is standing out to us.”

 

Confirmations came in over the comms, and Allura sat back for a moment, her own breathing becoming deliberately measured. She seemed to be gathering herself together for something, which became apparent when she muted her end of the comm — she could hear the others, but they couldn’t hear her at the moment. Pidge mimicked her without needing to be told.

 

“Pidge, are they … are they ready to fight to survive?” Allura asked wearily. “I don’t mean are they _capable._ I’ve seen that they are, frighteningly so. I mean … do they want to?”

 

Pidge blinked at that, and her mouth opened and closed for a minute. It had _never_ occurred to her to think of Lance and Keith that way. It seemed to be a _given_ that they would do anything to endure. Now she knew that  _enduring_ meant far more than she had naively fantasized about while searching the universe for them.

 

They seemed iron-willed in their determination. They had hardened looks and bitter laughs, but they still pushed at every second to stay alive, flirting and joking in-between bloodshed and harsh words.

 

“Yes,” Pidge said with all the certainty she could muster. “They’ve come this far, and they are scarily stubborn about making it to the end. Why … why do you ask?” Had Allura seen something in the short time she’d been here that the rest of them had missed?

 

“Because I remember what the war did to my father, to Coran … To my mother and everyone around me. Some of them didn’t … When I watched certain ones go to battle, I knew, somehow, that they wouldn’t return. And I was right, each time.”

 

“Did you get that feeling from Lance and Keith?” Pidge rushed to ask.

 

“No, not exactly,” Allura admitted, and Pidge’s hands unclenched from her armrests, her nails nearly puncturing the soft fabric. “But they didn’t seem … They weren’t saying all there was to say. I have the feeling that the odds are worse than they would have us believe.”

 

Pidge absorbed this, rewinding Lance and Keith’s words and expressions from the night before. While she didn’t have Allura’s intuition and experience to serve her observations, she could see a few subtle things she hadn’t noted at first … Like Keith’s penetrating gaze resting on each of them, the way he let himself be hugged and held close, they way he’d kept himself carefully poker-faced as Lance enthusiastically elaborated on their plans. Keith was normally not nearly as outspoken as Lance, so Pidge hadn’t thought much of it then …

 

“Lance is too good of a liar now,” she said, a short chuckle punctuating her sadness. Her hand flew up to her braided hair, the bun pressed close to the back of her skull. “But they know we’ll fight to get to them.”

 

“And they told Coran of their plans. He wouldn’t have let them go through with it if he thought they were intending to … not come back.” Allura needed the reassurance from Pidge, and Pidge gave it to her with a quick nod and smile.

 

“Allura, Pidge, you there?” Shiro called out.

 

Allura unmuted her comm. “We’re here. Have you arrived?”

 

“Your hacking programs are a _dream,_ Pidge!” Brisha said in awe over the comms. “We got inside in _three seconds._ ”

 

Shiro spoke in a low tone, “We’re in Dras’ basement … You wouldn’t believe what Lance and Keith have managed to smuggle in here.”

 

“Oh, you’ll believe it,” Hunk said with a hysterical giggle. “Pidge, how many explosives would you say are _too many_? Because take that number and multiply it by the power of _ten,_ and that’s _how many we’re dealing with here._ ”

 

“We need to defend this point until Lance and Keith make it down to us,” Brisha said, her voice sharp and no-nonsense. “Yathir, give us your cue.”

 

“Wesdru!” Yathir called. “Are you ready?”

 

“Ready and eager,” came Wesdru’s drawl, accompanied by a growl.

 

“Zan?”

 

“My team is itching to get started,” Zan replied, a grin clearly audible over the comms.

 

“Allura, Pidge, once we get going, there should be several more crews joining us from the east, north, and west — let us know if that’s not the case.” Yathir’s voice was booming now, as though he were projecting to a large crowd. “On my mark.”

 

Allura and Pidge stared hard at the streets below.

 

The first explosion incinerated several cars right in front of Dras’ building.

 

The next five were nearly simultaneous — two from the East, two from the North, and one from the West. _Thousands_ of people spilled forth from the dust and debris, converging onto all the streets surrounding Dras’ building. A few hundred more emerged onto roofs, their guns pointed down to the streets below.

 

And then _several more hundred pour forth from Dras’ tower,_ from _all four sides._

_“Allura, snipers!”_ Pidge shouted, pointing as several of the rooftop crews were barraged with fire.

 

“On it!” Allura swerved downwards, keeping the ship in _dangerously_ close to the building. They spotted a few of the snipers quickly, and Allura made a terrifying rush towards to the building, launching upwards — the ensuing tornado of wind from their sharp thrust, followed by the expulsion of heat from their engines, knocked several of the snipers from their perch, sending them splattering onto the ground so far below.

 

Pidge seized control of the weapons, and when Allura gave her a nod, she released only two quick bursts of lasers, killing two snipers on the east side of the building. Dozens more were emerging, and there didn’t seem to be an end to the ground forces Dras was releasing out onto the streets.

 

“Shiro!” Allura yelled. “These streets are madness! How are you —”

 

“She knows we’re here!” Shiro replied, grunting as he fought. “Brisha and I, we’re pushing up. Matt, Coran, and Hunk are holding down the basement entrance — we need to make as much noise as we can, force her to send more troops down here.”

 

“Lance and Keith need us to make her use _everything,_ ” Brisha told them, gasping between words.

 

“We’ll support the rooftop snipers on our side.” Allura took a sharp turn as she spoke, knocking one sniper back. “The more people she thinks are attacking her building, the more she’ll send out to combat them.”

 

“Don’t reveal your position!” Matt ordered. “Keep your attacks random and sparse!”

 

“We’ll let you know when Lance and Keith make contact,” Brisha said.

 

Allura sent the ship over to fire upon the south-facing snipers. The rooftop crews were taking a beating — Dras’ building was the tallest in Whiero, so her snipers were able to get clearer lines of sight on those attacking. Pidge held back on using the cannons, but she helped Allura gun down several more of Dras’ snipers, cursing when more would take their place in a few short seconds.

 

But that was _good._ That mean Dras was using up personnel, including, probably, _hopefully,_ the people who would have been guarding Lance and Keith …

 

****** 

_Part Ten: Keith_

_Fourth Day, Morning_

******

 

 _“Fuck!”_ Keith held his side, gritting his teeth once the guards had left the room. He’d maintained a stoic silence all throughout the beating, closing his eyes to avoid seeing Lance, though he couldn’t block out the sound of Lance’s desperate yells on his behalf, pleas for the asshole to _stop._ It wasn’t entirely an act, and Keith knew it.

 

He also knew that Lance was hiding the unbridled _rage_ he no doubt felt. And the reason why Keith knew all of these things for certain was because when it had been Lance’s turn a few short hours before, when the guards had come in to kick and punch Lance without mercy … Keith had been begging in the same way, while also digging his nails into his palms to channel his murderous intent away from his voice.

 

Lance gripped the bars of his cell hard enough to turn his hands white. After a few seconds had passed without any guard jumping back into their tiny jail, he called out in a loud whisper.

 

“Keith, tell me what hurts!” What Keith heard beneath those words was: _Those motherfuckers are going to be the first to die_. It would be a race between the two of them as to who would gut the bastards first.

 

“Nothing that won’t heal,” Keith answered, trying for a smile, though it was more of a grimace. His burned side didn’t respond well to the beating, but as he carefully stretched out his arms and legs, it didn’t seem to impede him too badly. He wiped the blood out from under his nose and off his temple. He retrieved his hair tie from his wrist and pulled his hair back into a low ponytail.

 

Lance scrutinized him in the dim light, his eyes taking Keith in silently. Keith gave a subtle thumbs-up and then played at being far more injured than he was. Both he and Lance knew how to take a beating — it was astonishingly easy to direct your attackers to your stronger sides. To curl up in the right way to protect your most vital organs.

 

Keith was just grateful Dras didn’t appear to employ any truly knowledgeable torturers. Or maybe she was saving them for later.

 

He leaned back against the wall, facing Lance directly across from him, Keith's legs stretched out in front of him. These cells were so small that his bare feet were brushing the cell door in that position. Lance mirrored him, and his legs bent slightly at the knee, his extra inch of height not allowing him to fully extend his own legs. These nine cells (cages, really) were in a small room, with only one door as an escape. No vents, no windows — the toilets were tiny and set into the floor. No cots, no blankets. The only other things in this jail were two cameras on either side of the room.

 

Even without the intermittent beatings, he doubted that he and Lance would’ve been able to get much sleep. This place was also kept fairly cold, and they’d been left wearing only their pants and shirts. Their coats, socks, boots, and various other items, plus weapons, had been stripped from them and locked away.

 

If they had been captured without a plan to escape, this situation would be pretty grim.

 

But any minute now, their distraction would be kicking off.

 

“You think she’s gonna kill us sooner or later?” Lance asked, his voice timid.

 

“Later.” Keith coughed feebly. “She’s going to make a show out of it. Make sure no one pulls a stunt like ours again.”

 

“Yathir said she made the others like us disappear,” Lance disagreed, his smile faint. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and she’ll just shoot us over a ditch. Over that place, out in the desert. Sounds nice. Rather die out there, under the sky.”

 

“No one’s gotten as close as we have to her, though,” Keith said gloomily, while inside he crowed over the fact that they were going to get _even closer to her, close enough to hurt_. “No one’s gotten the bosses together like we did. Even if one of them screwed us over in the end.”

 

The one who they had expected.

 

Yathir had predicted the betrayal to come from either Bos’Nar, Liruo, or Gunthra — and that theory had been a piece of the intel on that memory stick they’d passed on to Jorlack, along with the confirmation that Dras actually did have plans to blow them all to hell. At the war council, it had honestly surprised Keith to see Liruo abstain from participation, and Gunthra stick by them. Maybe Gunthra been chaffing under Dras’ rule more than Keith had originally thought. She hadn’t exactly shown _regret_ at no longer hiring Lance and Keith for jobs when Dras imposed her unofficial sanctions against them, but she didn’t seem thrilled with it either, come to think of it.

 

Lance sighed. “Awesome. So I guess we shouldn’t expect any food or water, then?” He raised his voice on those last words, and jerked in surprise when the door swung open with a bang against his cell.

 

Instantly, Keith drew his legs in, pressing himself as far back as he could, as if in fear. Lance did the same, though he couldn’t quite hold back an angry snarl when Akros walked in, holding a tray with what looked like a few bowls of water and plain porridge.

 

“Good morning,” he said congenially. “Breakfast is served.”

 

Lance scowled, his eyes catching Keith’s and then settling on the pathetic meal. “What, exactly, do you want us to do for that food?”

 

“Oh, nothing.” Akros whipped out a gun, pointing it at Keith as he set two of the bowls down in front of Lance’s cell. He reversed his pose to pass Keith his food and water.

 

He stood up and backed away, and both Lance and Keith fell upon the sustenance provided. It wasn’t much, but it would do — and the last thing Dras would use was _poison._ So anti-climatic. So quick and without ceremony.

 

“We need you healthy, you see, before we hand you off to Porthwin.”

 

Lance froze. Keith flinched, fumbling his bowl of flavourless porridge. Porthwin was one of the many brutal bosses who resided in Whiero — one of the many _assholes_ who would have sent people to capture Lance and Keith for his _business,_ had they not proven deadly to anybody who tried to pull that shit.

 

“That … that doesn’t make any sense,” Lance blurted out, dropping his food, sending the porridge spilling all around him. He kneeled in the mess, uncaring, as he used the bars on either side of him (the cell was small enough that he didn’t even need to stretch his arms to grab them) to hoist himself up. He met Akros’ eyes, and that flicker of terror in his blue gaze was _very_ real. “She can’t possibly leave us alive after this, not …”

 

“Oh, she’s going to execute you,” Akros said calmly. “In a grand public fashion. But first she must return a favour she owes to Porthwin. He’s been helping her cut off supply routes to some of your cohorts’ powder businesses. And he gave her a few of his whores to keep another couple of bosses loyal to her. We promised to replenish his numbers.”

 

Lance cast his horrified stare back to Keith. They would be fine. They were getting out of here in a few minutes. But the idea of what Dras had planned …

 

Keith spat at Akros’ feet. “So, what, she expects us to stay at Pork’s and just _lie there and take it?_ Who the _fuck_ does she —”

 

“It’s only for a few days. You would be left relatively intact, well-fed and cared for between clients. At the end of the week, your execution awaits.” He shrugged then, looking so _indifferent, so cold_ as he announced their fate. “And perhaps you may have a chance to escape, who knows?”

 

Akros gave a rather passionless smile. “Your reputation would be in tatters by then, of course. I can think of several of your so-called allies who would pay handsomely to have one of you, or both. And so even if you do somehow manage to save your own lives, what kind of following would you have? We’ve captured you, defeated your cause, and will dismantle your entire support network. No one will want to touch you … unless, of course, you work for someone like Porthwin. Or Denna. Denna would be the kinder option — Dras wouldn’t bother you if you worked for her quietly. Diligently.”

 

Keith had to bite his tongue to keep silent. Lance was gripping the bars again, so tightly Keith wouldn’t put it past him to bend them out of shape in a show of pure fury _._

But Akros wasn’t done. “Your other option is to remain here. And slowly starve. While I take my time and carve each of you up. Little pieces at a time. One day you,” he pointed at Lance with the gun, “and the next day you,” he then pointed at Keith. “You watch each other lose bits of yourselves until, come the day of your execution, we execute what bloody, skeletal stumps of you remain. We’ll keep your heads intact, so everyone knows it’s The Two McClains hanging to death.”

 

Keith’s mind actually skipped past that gruesome imagery, and for whatever reason, jumped back to the first two weeks he and Lance were here; when Lance had, for the briefest of moments, considered working for Denna instead of partaking in the violence they experienced on a daily basis. In the end, he’d told Keith, _”It would feel like giving up parts of me, over and over. I don’t want to do that. I’m not the kind of person who … And for money … Czanliu seems happy, healthy. But I wouldn’t be, I know that. I would be trading one pain for another.”_

 

Keith couldn’t watch that. He couldn’t _stand it._

 

“ _De madre! Vete pa’ carajo, cabrón,_ ” Lance said weakly. His eyes were huge in his pale face, his hands trembling. Fear, anger, both — Keith definitely felt all of that rushing through his mind, shaking his own limbs, nausea burning up his throat.

 

“ _Paciencia,”_ Keith gritted out between his teeth. _“Paciencia. En unos pocos minutos …_ ”

 

But apparently a few minutes was an overestimate. In the next second, before Akros could say another poisonous word, alarms went off — blasts, shooting, screaming, and pounding feet.

 

Lance grinned maliciously, and the fear dropped away, revealing the arrogant, charming, _murderous_ cowboy whom Keith _fucking adored._

 

“Whoops, wonder what that could be?” Lance sing-songed. He leapt backwards when Akros lunged through the bars at him.

 

Shattering glass from all around — the walls and floor _shaking_ around them as the building was converged on from all sides, from the ground _up_. Keith had a wild grin on his own face as he pictured the veritable _fuckton_ of explosives lying in wait at the bottom of the building. He was sure Brisha’s team was putting _those_ to good use.

 

As long as they left enough for Lance and Keith to play their part, Keith was totally fine with them blasting as many holes in Dras’ compound as they desired.

 

“Akros, _sir! We need to move!_ The snipers, they —” One of Akros’ cronies came rushing into the room, followed closely by another, a woman with a heavy machine gun braced on her shoulder.

 

“ _They’re inside already,_ ” she wheezed. “Completely surrounded, we’ve got —”

 

And still _another,_ screaming _,_ “ _Bastards fucked us over, the entire east and west sides are —”_

“Somebody stay here and watch them!” Akros snarled, and he strode from the room without wasting any time.

 

The machine gun woman stood her ground as the others left. Maybe there was someone still monitoring the cameras, maybe not, but after that bullshit Akros had spouted at them, Keith was _done._ And apparently, so was Lance, as he didn’t waste any time either.

Lance winked at the lady, blowing her a kiss. “Hey sweetheart, fancy givin’ this cowboy here a ride?”

 

She whipped around to glare at him, her frame shaking as yet another blast reverberated through the floors beneath them. “ _Fuck you, McClain._ ”

 

“Ladies first,” Lance said sweetly.

 

Keith had his arms around her throat in short measure. Her heavy gun crashed to the floor as she slammed back against the bars of his cell, making life much easier for him — not so much for her. Really, it was their fault for putting these cells in a room so _small._ Keith didn’t have to reach far to put her in a chokehold. Lance was already picking the lock on his cage, and Keith snapped her neck, ending her flailing grabs for his head or for another weapon.

 

“Didn’t even need to use my shiv.” Lance pouted as he unlocked his door. “And I worked so hard to smuggle it in.”

 

“Get it, we may need to stab a few people before we get our stuff back,” Keith said, using his own lockpick — a small pin hidden in his hair — to free himself.

 

Lance reached down his pants to grab said shiv, and Keith made a soft, cautionary noise. “Careful. I’d be a little sad if you damaged _that_ part of yourself.”

 

He got a leer and a kiss blown his way with a hand clutching a newly freed short blade. Keith opened his cell door and immediately swept Lance into his arms, stealing a fast, ferocious kiss of his own. It wasn’t anything other than a reassurance that they were both _alive —_  that not a single thing Akros said was coming true. Not _one_ _damn word of it._ Lance indulged him for approximately four seconds before ripping his mouth away.

 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here _._ ” Lance slapped the shiv into Keith’s hand. “Here, you’re better at the pointy things.”

 

Lance bent and picked up the machine gun, his mouth forming a lethal smirk. “I’m better at the shooty things.”

 

Keith gave a smug grin in return before swinging open the door and powering out into the room beyond. There were two guards left in this place, not even looking towards them or the camera monitors — they were glued to the windows, staring at the carnage below them.

 

With a swift, decisive series of movements, Keith had one down, his throat crushed beneath his foot, and the other stabbed clean through the major artery pulsing in his neck. Keith stared down at the last one, watching him bleed out — the asshole who had taken special pleasure in wrenching a pained cry out of Lance as he’d kicked into his ribs. Once he was dead, Keith looked up at Lance, who smiled in a grimly satisfied way.

 

“Stay quiet, there are others outside this room. Save your ammo for them,” Keith told him. He rooted through the bodies, turning up a few daggers, a couple of small pistols, and the keys to the weapon’s locker next door, where all their gear had been dumped by their captors.

 

In short order, they had their coats and boots back, and they were carrying every weapon they had originally come in with, and then some. Keith felt along the lining of his coat, breathing out when he found the slight bumps near the seam along the waist — where the coat bunched up in the back for purposes of style. And also to hide a tiny bomb that he and Lance needed to plant. The bomb would had surely have raised too many questions had they openly carried it on them, sophisticated and powerful as it was — Yathir had done a good job with it, and now they had to find the specific location for it.

 

But first, Lance had to deal with the cameras — he was sitting at the chair by the monitors, grabbing a cable to plug his computer in. Once again, Pidge’s software, saving their behinds.

 

The only way to access the camera system was from one of these computers, and Croliat had handily informed them of this computer console — Lance and Keith had only been aware of the console on upper floors, the one they’d used during their heist, which was now rather inaccessible to due added security measures, including _even more_ cameras. Getting captured had been the simplest and quickest way to gain access to this console — sneaking in would have carried far more risk and taken too much time.

 

“Make sure you keep it random,” Keith reminded Lance while keeping one eye and one gun pointed towards the door. “And don’t forget to —”

 

“Cameras in the elevator shafts are still up, don’t worry,” Lance said with a wave of his hand. “I’ve got the ones we need off in the penthouse singled out for shut down, and the ones in the elevator shaft near here pinned to stay on. Everything else is being randomized. It’ll look like a glitch, a system failure. I got this _,_ dude.”

 

Keith nodded, jittery as he waited for Lance to finish. In another minute, Lance was up, pocketing his computer, giving Keith a quick kiss on the cheek as he passed. “And we’re ready to go.”

 

Lance poked his head out the door that lead to the main hallway. He turned back to Keith. “We’ve got maybe ten guys between us and the elevator. Possibly more in the other rooms, can’t say for sure.”

 

Keith shrugged. “Well, now’s a good time to use that machine gun, then.”

 

Lance laughed and strode out into the hallway without preamble, shooting in rapid-fire. Keith used the small pistols he’d stolen from the guards to watch Lance’s back. He gunned down several people who came running out from the rooms on either side of the large hallway, and when those pistols ran out of bullets, he reached behind him to grab the guns Lance had stolen from the weapon’s locker and strapped to his thighs.

 

He caught sight of two other bastards who had enjoyed beating the crap out Lance. Keith put them down with extreme prejudice.

 

Silence reigned inside of three minutes.

 

“Nice,” Lance announced, stepping over corpses without looking back towards Keith — he got to work on prying open the elevator doors.

 

Keith kicked various hallway doors down, searching for a certain vent opening as Lance worked on their fast getaway to the basement. Dras had never figured out the _precise_ route Lance and Keith had used to steal her gems out from under her, but apparently, the wire in the elevator shaft had been discovered and dealt with — and the elevator shafts, Croliat had informed them, were now monitored by camera. Lance and Keith didn’t care who saw them going down, and in fact, they _wanted to be seen going down_ — so Dras would assume that they were _no longer in the upper floors._ Dras had added no _explosive_ security measures to the elevators. And that was going to bite her in the ass today.

 

However, the vents had been secured from the twenty-first floor and up — in other words, if Lance and Keith wanted to enter covertly into the penthouse area, with minimal risk of being discovered, then they needed to unblock access to the particular vent route that went straight up to Dras’ personal quarters.

 

Keith found a whimpering guard hiding beneath an interrogation table in one of the rooms; he put a bullet in him without blinking. Right  above the fresh corpse was the vent he’d been looking for — the vent shown on the schematics Lance had stolen from one of Dras’ engineers. Once he’d ensured all the rooms were clear, he took off his coat, ripping at the seam, and out fell the tiny explosive Yathir had made for them.

 

He hollered to Lance, “I’m going up!”

 

“Roger that! Be careful!”

 

He climbed into the vent, hastily scaling up to the next floor, and found what he was looking for — a thick, metal fan that blocked off the rest of the way, spinning dangerously, pulling Keith in a bit. He planted the bomb rapidly and shimmed backwards even faster. It went off just as he rounded a corner, his ears ringing from the explosion. He went back to the newly created hole — which now opened up into the vent route that would allow Lance and Keith access to Dras’ place.

 

They just needed to grab the rest of the tools they needed for the job — tools too big to smuggle in the lining of their coats or down their pants.

 

Keith joined Lance back out by the elevator, who had just managed to hold the doors open with a desk he’d dragged out from one of the rooms.

 

“Not really looking forward to sliding down again,” Lance said with a sigh. “But the elevator is above us, so let’s move now.”

 

Lance ditched the heavy machine gun and climbed out into the shaft. Keith followed him, seeking out the thick wire they could use to rappel, pulling it free …

 

“Shit! Keith, the elevator’s coming back!”

 

Keith sped up the process of wrapping that wire around the sturdiest pipe. He shifted down quickly. “ _Move!”_

As soon as Lance got a decent grip, Keith started sliding down rapidly, his hands burning. Lance hissed out curses — they took a chance, stopping when the elevator paused three floors above their heads.

 

And then the doors to their right slid open haltingly, guns pointed at them by three armed goons.

 

Lance had his gun in one hand before the doors had finished jerking open, and he’d fired twice by the time they had, hitting two guys and sending them backwards — the third managed to point his gun towards them, but Keith put a bullet in his brain before he could pull the trigger.

 

“Okay, so the cameras are a _slight problem,_ ” Lance complained. He fired several more times from his awkward position, hitting targets Keith couldn’t see from his position lower down and beneath Lance’s feet. “ _We’re clear._ ”

 

Keith had ripped a piece of his shirt, tossing the fabric up to Lance, “Here! Damn it, we should have worn gloves.”

 

Lance accepted the cloth to wrap around the wire while Keith ripped off another section of his shirt — just as the elevator started moving down _again._ More elevators doors were being pried open beneath them.

 

 _“NOW!”_ Lance hollered.

 

Keith slid without stopping, Lance practically on top of him as they all but _fell_ towards the basement. A few shots went wild, but only a couple of floors had wrenched open doors with creeps firing at Lance and Keith — and the elevator blocked them off quickly, conveniently saving them even as it tried to crush them.

 

The lower floors had no one because they were clearly otherwise occupied trying to keep Brisha’s team at bay.

 

“Keith! Lance!” came a cry from below them.

 

He didn’t have a chance to reply — he just knew they were close enough to survive the fall. “Lance, _let go!”_

 

Keith fell and rolled towards the voice — to Brisha, who had her hand out, helping him climb up and into the basement level. Lance crashed in right behind him; Keith whipped around, grabbing him by the shirt just as Brisha yanked hard. Another hand stretched past her, snatching Lance as Keith pulled him in close, and they were both swiftly dragged out a few seconds before the elevator could crush them.

 

With the doors open, the group of Dras’ thugs _inside_ the elevator were instantly exposed to several dozen angry rebels.

 

Gunfire went off as everyone in the elevator was fired upon. Dras’ troops were in a bloody pile before Keith had gotten to his feet, dusting himself off with one hand while his other reached for Lance. Somebody on Brisha’s team ran into the elevator, slamming the button that would hold it here, preventing it from going back up to bring down even more enemies.

 

But more would come regardless; it was only a matter of time. Keith took the few peaceful minutes they had to breathe deeply and take in the small lobby around them. Brisha had people stationed at both doors leading into this space, and they fired sporadically, but the fighting seemed to be concentrated elsewhere in the basement.

 

Once Lance and Keith were standing upright, Brisha grabbed them both up in a hug. “Oh, you’re alive! I knew you would be, but _fuck,_ it’s so good to see you!”

 

Shiro had been the one to snatch Lance out of the elevator shaft, and he grinned now, his dark eyes lighting up, even with blood smeared down one side of his face, and his entire body coated in dust and soot. “We’ve got whatever you need right here. Just be ready to run when we say.”

 

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you,” Keith hurried to speak, tripping over his words. “We knew, if we said that we had to be captured, maybe tortured before —”

 

“Keith,” Shiro interrupted him, “this is not the time. But you and Lance … You’re good to keep fighting?”

 

Lance let Brisha examine his hands, cursing him out and then reaching into her coat pockets, revealing an antiseptic gel that she rubbed rather vigorously into the burns on his palms and fingers. “We’re — _ow, shit_ — we’re good, Shiro. They used fists and feet — _Brisha, damn it_ — but no lasting damage.”

 

Brisha came over to give Keith the same rough treatment, though he bore it silently, shooting Lance a smug look. “Yeah, Shiro, we’ll be fine. Nothing worth _whining_ over.” Lance lifted a gel-coated middle finger at him.

 

Shiro exhaled loudly. “You hear that, everyone?” He raised a hand to his ear.

 

“Oh, comms?” Lance said excitedly. “From the Castle — good call to give them to us now. Akros would’ve probably snatched them away for himself and Dras.”

 

 _Not likely,_ Keith thought to himself, smiling at Brisha once she finished with his hands.

 

Shiro offered a comm to him, and then to Lance. Akros and Dras wouldn’t have thought to look for something this small. And they didn’t have the technology to detect it. No, what Lance meant was _thank fucking goodness they didn’t hear anything that happened in that jail._

Keith pressed the comm into his ear, feeling the miniscule nubs that allowed him to flick it on. Lance did the same, his blue eyes catching his — Keith nodded minutely, a tiny bit of relief sneaking past his poker face.

 

Two explosions, one after the other, rocked the foundations of the building.

 

“Whoa!” Lance exclaimed. “Don’t bring this whole place down on our heads, please!”

 

“Ah, so good to hear your voice!” Coran shouted. _“Have at you, fiend!”_ Clearly he was in the middle of battle somewhere nearby.

 

“Lance!” Hunk cried out joyfully. “You down here already?”

 

“Y’all made it easy for us,” Lance replied, smiling. “How are things on your end?”

 

“Explosive, like my digestive tract!” he answered. “Eh, Keith?”

 

Keith chuckled. “Yeah, Hunk. Thanks for stealing my joke from, like, three years ago.”

 

“We’ve got your stuff set aside,” Brisha said, indicating a few satchels behind her, filled to bursting. “Hunk and the others are holding them just beyond this room, but getting to this elevator was rough.”

 

“We’ll need to retreat nearer to an exit,” Shiro told them, hoisting a large rifle over his shoulder. “So you won’t be able to count on us to come back you up.”

 

“That was never the plan, Shiro, so don’t worry!” Lance hummed happily as he double-checked the contents of the bags. “We have our own exit strategy.”

 

“That would be where we come in, I assume?” Allura chimed in over the comm. “Pidge and I been providing air support and intel throughout — we’ve left your purchased ship behind and are using a Pidge-prototype. Yathir said you’d send an obvious signal when you need extraction?”

 

“The princess coming to save the knight shining armour?” Lance gave a boisterous laugh. “Sounds perfect to me. Telliya gave up her seat easy?”

 

“She’s with me, and she’s currently beating several of Dras’ thugs to a pulp,” Yathir informed them. “You boys in one piece?”

 

“Yes,” Keith answered, accepting the second satchel from Lance, pulling the strap over his torso. He made sure it was cinched tightly closed so none of the contents could fall out. “They barely had a chance to touch us.”

 

Yathir made a soft sound — he either believed Keith, or more likely _didn’t_ believe him, but wasn’t about to make any comments over the comm for everyone to hear. “Then get yourselves into the next stage. Our reinforcements have already arrived. This won’t hold forever.”

 

Shiro clapped them both on their shoulders. “You’re heading up then?”

 

Lance pointed at the ceiling. “All the way up to her front door, yep.”

 

“With a couple of stops before then.” Keith had walked over to the vent high on the wall behind Brisha, who had the grate already unscrewed and removed. “We can’t talk much while getting up there — can’t let anyone know where we are.”

 

Lance nodded. “As far as Dras knows, we’ve just gotten down here and are joining you guys to try and take her out. Any second now, you are all going to get hit _really hard._ ”

 

“We’ve been here for too long already,” Keith said apologetically. “Get back to Coran and the others. Thanks for … for everything,” he finished lamely.

 

Shiro shook his head. “No thanks required. You just focus on finishing this. We’ll see you on the other side.”

 

Lance boosted Keith up into the vent. Brisha and Shiro lifted Lance up so he could follow quickly after him.

 

“I’ve got this!” Brisha yelled, replacing the grate after them. “Go!”

 

Lance and Keith had already begun crawling away as fast as they dared. Not thirty seconds later, they heard shooting echoing through the vents. But nothing and no one came in after them.

 

They climbed steadily, listening over the comms to Brisha, Yathir, Wesdru, and Zan snapping orders. Shiro and the others joined in intermittently. It didn’t sound great out there, but no one seemed to be panicking. Pidge and Allura called out warnings when they were doing close passes to the building, knocking or shooting Dras’ snipers from their perches. They also kept everyone informed as to how many forces Dras had out the streets _(too many, but also, their allies were holding their ground)_.

 

By the time they’d returned to the twenty-first floor again, where Keith had opened up the pathway to the top, they were drenched in sweat, shoulders and backs aching from the weight they carried in those bags.

 

“Didn’t really account for how damn tired we’d be, huh?” Lance said between pants, collapsing next to Keith for a short rest.

 

“ _Please, spare me!”_ came Zan’s voice, hoarse and exhausted. “I’ve been … dealing with … Porthwin’s scumbag thugs … and they’re persistent bastards.”

 

“Excuse you, Zan, but we’re on the front line over here,” Brisha countered. “And they’re leaping over corpses to get to us.”

 

“Enough chatter. Lance, Keith, we need you up there sooner rather than later,” said Yathir in a very calm tone. As if he wasn’t in the middle of a raging street war beneath them.

 

“Well, since Dras thinks we’re downstairs, most of her forces should be down there too,” Keith rasped out. He coughed before continuing on. “Should be able to deal with what few are left up there.”

 

“Including Akros?” Lance asked, his eyes dark and sharp.

 

“That fucker is going down first, and I don’t care how we do it.” Keith entertained a brief fantasy of gutting Akros and tossing his body at Dras’ feet. “Right, you good to keep going?”

 

Lance sucked in several deep breaths, expelling them slowly. He hitched the satchel further up his back and said, “Yeah, let’s finish this.”

 

“We’ll try and keep it quiet on our ends, unless you need us.” Shiro paused, his breath hitching as he seemed to swallow down whatever words he’d decided to keep silent. “Good luck.”

 

They both rose up, crawling upwards, boosting one another when they reached each new level, taking no other breaks other than short breathers when they needed to kick open a grate or rearrange their satchels to squeeze through narrower points. They didn’t rush, but they also didn’t stop. By the time they reached the penthouse floor, they had to take one last opportunity to catch their breaths. To double-check that all weapons were loaded and ready to fire. To ensure they had all the explosives they needed. Not that it would matter if anything went wrong now — the point of no return had passed the moment they entered Whiero the night before.

 

There had been no light except what peeked through certain grates or fans along the way, and so it was nearly pitch black, but Keith found Lance’s hands, his face, without trying more than once. He brought their foreheads together.

 

“You take the east, I take the west. We meet at the northern access point.”

 

Lance nodded against him, his breath coming out in rapid bursts. “Yeah. Got it.”

 

Keith separated to reach into his bag, pulling out two bombs as devastating as the ones that had marked up his and Lance’s bodies. As the ones that had nearly killed him and sent Lance nearly too far for Keith to follow.

 

He set them against the vent walls, right near a grate that opened up to a large lobby and sitting room, and then turned to towards the west.

 

Each time he planted a bomb, he would look through the grates into Dras’ penthouse. So far, all he’d seen were three guards, all of them looking tense, jittery fingers on their triggers. But when he reached the second to last vent, just outside of Dras’ office, he spotted one guard — the largest Sedluni he’d _ever_ seen on this blasted planet. That might be a problem.

 

Keith breathed a near silent sigh of relief when he rounded a corner and saw Lance approaching in the distant, dim light of the vent. They met in the middle, placing the last of their charges side by side. Lance held up three fingers — _three guards on his side._ Keith held up four — _four,_ including the Sedluni, which he mimed with curled fingers, simulating claws. Lance frowned, nodded, and then pulled out two pistols. Their strategy had thinned out Dras’ crew up here considerably, but they still had a risky fight on their hands.

 

They couldn’t speak, hovering over a grate in Dras’ office, right above a small side table that had a lavish spread of food.

 

She wasn’t in their line of sight, but they could hear her voice — a medium tone, straightforward, the faint accent of this world colouring her words slightly, not unlike Keith’s own Texas accent when he chose to let his tongue loosen.

 

“Bring the chain guns up from the basement, place them at the north and south perches on the twenty-fifth floors — cut a line through those rebels, allow Porthwin and his troops room to maneuver. Bring the bomb-launchers to bear on the east, and put all remaining snipers at the west perches.” Dras paused, and Keith could distantly hear Akros’ voice.

 

“ _The basement team is holding firm. We cannot break them._ ”

 

“Once their allies on the streets are destroyed, we can eliminate them. All our forces have to do is hold them there. I want the McClains to see their revolution crumble around them.”

 

Lance smirked, and Keith didn’t need to nod or blink in agreement — even he could see the perfection of _this_ opening and appreciate the cinematic quality of it.

 

Lance kicked the grate and rolled onto the food-covered table in a sinuous flow of movements that cost him no more than a second. His gun was up and pointed at Dras, fired by the time Keith landed next to Lance, his stolen guns pointed behind Lance’s back to the door — Lance’s shot hit Dras’ shoulder as the Sedluni came roaring in, and Keith launched himself towards the huge alien.

 

Dras ducked behind her desk, barking into her comm, _“Akros, up here, now!”_

 

The Sedluni clicked his claws in Keith’s direction, grinning with bloodstained teeth, but for all its massive bulk, the skull was its weak-point. Keith was not the marksman Lance was, but he could put a bullet in a target as large as that. He fired three times, hitting the huge alien right in his torso, rather uselessly.

 

The Sedluni roared, and the six other guards burst into the room. Lance hadn’t reached Dras’ desk yet, and so he whipped around, knocking the side table over to use it for cover as he unleashed a barrage of bullets towards the new arrivals.

 

Keith used the Sedluni’s bulk to shield himself. When one of those giant claws came at him, landing a glancing blow across his upper back, he leapt up, using the extended arm as landing point, and firing straight down into the giant guard’s head. As the Sedluni collapsed, Keith dropped the empty guns and twirled out his blades, slicing into the neck of a charging guard, and stabbing clean through the shooting arm of another.

 

Lance downed a couple while Keith killed the two nearest him. The last pair retreated just outside the door, but Keith wasn’t afraid of a bullet — these morons assumed he would run for cover with Lance, and that would be their last mistake.

 

He came whirling around the corner, trusting that Lance would do exactly what he did next — leap over his table, sliding in to press his back to Keith’s as he shot the penultimate guard. Keith thrust his two blades into the neck and stomach of the final guard, and then ripped them out with a twist, sending a dark purple spray onto the wall, splattering clothes and exposing organs to open air. The alien collapsed with a gurgle, spewing forth the last of his life’s blood before he hit the floor.

 

“Akros is on his way,” Lance said lightly. His eyes flicked towards the elevator corridor, a few feet away from the office’s antechamber.

 

“So he is,” Keith answered, his eyes staring at Keegin Dras’ desk.

 

The former general herself rose up to greet them.

 

Much like Yathir, she had six arms, and she was nearly as large as their inn-keeping friend. Her skin was a light blue, her eyes charcoal grey, and she wore a simple pair of mud brown pants and a maroon shirt, all clean and pressed. She held a sharp scimitar in one hand, a long sabre in another, and a sawed off shotgun clutched in her two lowest hands.

 

“Lance. Keith.” Her voice took on a fairly flat tone — no anger came to life in her gaze, nor did she seem particularly unhappy to see them. “You’ve certainly come far.”

 

The double meaning was clear. Lance switched from looking for Akros to staring at Dras with a scorching malevolence. “I’m not interested in any monologues or opinions you might have on our surviving your best attempts to kill us. I’m here to end you.”

 

Lance fired before he even finished the last word — but Dras had already dodged, her blades crossing so quickly that the bullet ricocheted into the ceiling.

 

“My attempts to kill you were only half-assed, at best,” she said, and there was finally a hint of something in her tone. _Mocking._ “You were entertaining to string along. That ends now. I’ll call the Grand General and begin anew after I’ve roasted the planet surface — I didn’t want to have to resort to that, but this coordinated _rebellious_ effort of yours shows that you’ve spread your corruption _too far._ ” She sneered at them, eyes empty pools, void of anything other than hatred. “You see, I learned most of my tactics from my comrades in war. Many who were executed or exiled here for _winning_ said war.”

 

“For murdering civilians and using children as baits in traps,” Lance bit out. “We know.”

 

“Yathir told you?” Dras sounded mildly surprised. “Interesting. The only reason he was able to save you from the bombs was because he knew that I’d obviously begin my war on his pathetic little brood with one of _his_ favourite tactics.” As she spoke she moved out from behind her desk, and Lance fired two more times — she was fast, whirling before his fingers tightened on the trigger, one bullet bouncing off her blade, the other grazing her cheek. It bled dark green, spilling down onto her formerly spotless shirt collar. “Though he liked to use his bombs on hospitals, give the enemy troops no chance for healing, prevent the injured from returning.”

 

“I don’t give a shit what Yathir did during the war,” Lance spat out, spinning away as she lunged — Keith’s blades sparked as she hit his two swords instead of Lance’s neck, and Lance fired twice, catching her in the other shoulder, though his second bullet was deflected.

 

She fired her shotgun at Lance, who fell to his knees just as Akros slid into the room from a hidden door behind Keith, leaving Keith to spin and weave between serrated blades that had disembowelled Galra. He fought frantically, only knowing that Lance still lived, that he hadn’t been hit point-blank because Lance was surging back up, firing several times in rapid succession, hitting Dras in nearly every limb, in her torso, not able to hit her weak points, not with his hands shaking, blood dripping …

 

“ _Keith!”_ came Shiro’s desperate cry. _“Lance!”_

 

“ _Please, are you alive?”_ Allura echoed, her voice shaking.

 

Keith grunted loudly as Akros’ blades met his above his head, though he hurriedly dropped one sword down to protect his stomach as Akros went for a gut-shot.

 

Lance coughed, a pistol clattering to the floor; Dras aimed for his head — and Keith nearly tripped as Lance was suddenly underfoot, having slid between Dras’ legs before she could fire again, hamstringing her with a dagger and kicking at that fresh wound instantly afterward.

 

As she crashed to the floor, Lance lifted his pistol, but Dras knocked Keith to the ground, Akros’ blades slicing down, one slicing across Keith’s hand, forcing him to drop one of his swords. Akros' other blade stabbed Keith clean through the shoulder, pinning him to the floor. He cried out hoarsely — followed by an unusual moment of silence as Lance said nothing.

 

Lance said nothing because Dras had knocked Keith aside in order to get to Lance, one of her massive hands around his throat while the others ripped away every weapon he had on him, tearing his clothes in the process.

 

Keith broke Akros’ wrist with a solid kick as the slender alien man stabbed down again — Akros' muttered curses, his foot jabbing towards Keith's mostly healed side did nothing other than spurn Keith on because _Lance was dying._

Then Yathir’s voice was in their ears with a touch of fear, of _panic_. “ _Allura, they can be reached on the fortieth floor, Dras’ office is on the —_ ”

 

 _“No!”_ Lance wheezed. And then he stilled. Dras did not stop strangling him. Although she had wanted them alive initially, Keith was terrified that now she just wanted them gone, in any capacity.

 

He had a moment as Akros reached for another blade. Keith didn’t care about the damage — he _lunged upwards,_ the blade that had been plunged in his shoulder ripped out and _flung at Dras’ head._ She had to raise two arms to catch the weapon before it buried itself in her skull, loosening her grip on Lance, and Lance surged to life, but only to reach into his partially ripped coat, seeking something … Keith caught a glimpse as Akros hurtled towards Keith again — Keith blocked with the one blade he had in his uncut hand, his injured hand seeking the dagger hidden behind his back, which was slipping in his bloody grip.

 

 _“Keith!”_ Lance called in a broken whisper. “ _Away! Now!”_

 

Keith had no idea what Lance meant, too caught up in using Akros’ next lunge against him — Keith jumped and grabbed the alien’s forearm, spinning him around in a violent dance, knocking him into Dras — just as she _exploded._

Keith may or may not have screamed Lance’s name — Dras had been _on top of him,_ and she had just _blown up,_ except no, _no,_ she hadn’t — just her left side, meat exposed, skin scorched off, green blood and viscera coating the floor beneath her.

 

Akros reeled, attempting to stand up — failing as Keith stabbed his chest, stepping on the vicious alien’s knee, crushing it beneath his heel. Akros went down once more, shouting his pain and his rage to Keith, those emotionless eyes still opaque, but clouding over as unconsciousness claimed him.

 

Lance rose to his feet. Keith was at his side in an instant. For the sake of everyone listening, as well as for his own sanity, Keith rattled off breathlessly into open air, “Lance, _Lance, let me see._ ” He scrambled for Lance’s skin, his gaze frantically leaping from the bruising already ringing his neck, to the bloody pieces of buckshot embedded in his chest, and to the fresh burns, nowhere near as bad as they could have been, but littering whatever skin had been exposed by Dras’ ruthless hands ripping the guns and knives off Lance’s body.

 

But Lance ignored him, ignored Hunk’s crying pleas for Lance to say something, and ignored Shiro’s demands that they _update, now._

 

Lance staggered over to Dras, and Keith had to stop him from plunging the knife, Keith’s blade, clean through her eye. She let out a raspy breath, hitching as it pulled at her exposed muscles, the bleeding sluggish but still spilling out onto her once pristine floors.

 

“ _Cretins, lowlifes,_ ” she exhaled the words, eyes alert despite the agony she must have been in. “They love this hell, and so did I — this was life, this was survival at its most visceral. And now you’ve given them dreams of heaven. How dare you spawn light in my domain.”

_“No one fucking dreams of heaven here,_ ” Lance spat into her face, voice wrecked. He yanked at Keith’s ironclad grip on his wrists. “This is hell, and we’ve learned to live in it — there’s no _one devil_ in charge. We make this place what we _want,_ and you just couldn’t stand the idea that someone might be better at playing the devil’s game than _you._ ”

 

She laughed at him, a coarse noise. “Are you claiming to be an evil beyond reckoning, Lance McClain?”

 

“Your side, it _burns,_ it’s bleeding you dry,” Lance rasped out with a bright, happy grin playing havoc with his expression — eyes glacially cold, lines of violence framing his posture. “You nearly _ripped Keith from me. Tore him to pieces right before my eyes, you heinous piece of shit._ Yathir taught me about these bombs, the ones you sneak onto the enemy soldier, the only survivor, who goes back, a symbol of hope, and just as he crosses back into home territory, just as his fellow soldiers see him and smile _…_ ”

 

Lance’s grin morphed into a shadowed, unblinking stare. “I would’ve waited until we sent you back to Jacomir, until you stood next to your former generals, the ones who didn’t murder children or blow up hospitals, or plant bombs in the suitcases of soldiers sent home from the frontlines … Nah, instead these were the ones who thought that _this world, this hell-scape,_ was a way to deal with thieves and murderers alike, never mind their children, never mind those who repented or who were _innocent._ ”

 

“Fucking spare me your proselytizing and end it, McClains. I expect you want to leave Yathir or that whore from Denna’s in charge —”

 

“ _No one_ is in charge, Dras,” Keith cut in at last, refusing to let himself be crushed by the pain — not of his injuries, but of Lance, a violent demon, licking up the suffering emanating from Dras, relishing ending her life even though _that wasn’t plan, was never the plan._ Not out of mercy, but because Yathir had told them the best way to prevent Jacomir from retaliating was to spare Dras.

Keith hadn’t known about the miniature bomb.

 

He pushed on, his own tone scrapped raw from exertion. “We’re leaving, and no one is _in fucking charge._ This world doesn’t know anything other than chaos, it bucks against any restraint — for someone who claims to know so much …” Keith trailed off. It didn’t matter, Dras didn’t matter anymore. Getting her out of here, that mattered. Getting Lance to a doctor — to a _cryo-pod, holy shit, they could do that now —_ that was the priority.

 

Keith’s thoughts were interrupted as he suddenly found himself on the floor. He blinked up at the ceiling once before he threw himself, instinctively, at Lance — Lance who had just knocked him off his feet. And then Lance was beneath him, a dagger clenched in this hand, and Keith had to slam his wrist hard, into the floor, to get him to let it go.

 

“Fuck, Lance, _enough._ We did it _._ Let’s go home,” he said harshly.

 

“She _nearly took you from me,_ ” Lance cried out gutturally, and there were no tears, but the _torment_ was there, the _agony_ from a time Keith did not remember, but the scars of it remained, deeper than the raw starburst on Lance’s still-beautiful face, even for the rage and anguish twisting his features. “You were _dead on arrival,_ but some fucking _fluke_ of nature brought you back, but even then … Even then, you didn’t … The chance of you _staying_ was …”

 

Keith stared into his eyes. Lance fell silent, gazing back, the blue unfathomable.

 

But Keith didn’t have time to understand the wordless plea — he pressed down harder, made his own silent appeal for Lance to _stop._ To let them end this the way they had originally intended. Lance's eyes closed as he finally gave in, and Keith grabbed the dagger, shoving it into a coat pocket. Then Keith reached for his own belt, undoing it and using it as means to restrain Dras’ wrists — she bit out curses, spat out blood, and he ignored all of it because suddenly, she was just like any other scum they’d faced on this world.

 

Another criminal who tried to get ahead, and when she crossed blades against The Two McClains, she had _lost,_ just like everyone else. (Though maybe The Two McClains had come out losing more in the long run … but no, _it didn’t matter as long as they were still breathing._ )

 

Lance sat stubbornly still, forcing Keith to pull the belt off Lance’s pants without help, which he then added as reinforcement with complicated loops around Dras’ wrists, before he stared hard at the unconscious Akros.

 

“Do we bring him too?” he asked. The fighting raged on just forty floors beneath them, but it felt so far away.

 

“No,” Lance said unsurprisingly.

 

Keith nodded, and then he said, “Allura, does your ship have broadcast abilities?”

 

“Yes? I can tap into the Castle’s systems.” She spoke so faintly, Keith had trouble hearing her — a whisper of sound.

 

“Great, meet us on the roof. We’ll be on the East ledge. You’ll know when to come grab us.”

 

“We don’t want to drop the stealth right in everyone’s line of sight,” Pidge said, her own voice cracking. “Ah, last thing you’ll need after this is people gunning for our tech—”

 

“You’ll have some cloud cover,” Lance told Pidge, his sore throat breaking apart his words. He rubbed his neck gingerly. “Give us a few minutes.”

 

A blade against her throat kept Dras still as Lance gathered up every weapon that still functioned. Once Lance had a gun trained on Dras, Keith reached for his blades, strapping everything into place once again. The adrenaline had significantly dulled the shooting pain from the hole in his shoulder, but that would soon fade. They had to move, had to end this before more of their allies died, before Dras’ numerous cohorts got their second wind.

 

Originally, the plan had been to drag her to the comm room on the floor beneath this one — where Lance had made that fateful message just over two weeks ago — and send a message directly to Jacomir.

 

But since they had the Castle and all that Altean technology, that was no longer necessary — they could reach Jacomir without needing this extra step.

 

With both guns and knives pointed at her, with her side burned, bleeding, Lance and Keith half dragged, half directed Dras to the stairs that led up to the roof. Getting her up them was a challenge, one that Lance took over with extremely brutal efficiency. Dras cursed them both, left pieces of her melted skin behind on the steps when she collapsed and Lance had to viciously heave her up several steps.

 

They reached the roof, and even forty stories up, the battle could be heard raging beneath them. Keith helped Lance haul Dras over to the eastern edge, staring down at the ant-like people viciously attacking one another. It would be over soon. He couldn’t spot Allura’s ship, but then again, they weren’t meant to if it was one of Pidge’s prototypes.

 

Lance dug his computer out from his coat, staring down at the timer. “Yathir’s radio receivers should reach from here,” he said casually as he pushed an icon on the screen.

 

A moment later, the twenty-six bombs they’d left in the vents eradicated Dras’ penthouse stronghold — Keith and Lance had both jammed their fingers in their ears, but Keith still felt that cotton-stuffed feeling in them as the explosion reverberated through him. His breaths shortened, his still healing side _burned, on fire,_ but not in reality. Lance stood next to him on unsteady feet, and the smoke swirled about them in open air. There was a ship shimmering into view less than a metre from them. Pidge stood by an open side door, reaching …

 

Lance and Keith tripped onto the small shuttle, Dras between them, and when they’d crashed to the floor, Pidge yelled, _“Got them!”_

 

Allura took off as several smaller explosions rained down even more debris.

 

Through the comms, Keith could hear everyone shouting at once, and it sounded jubilant, though he could only pick out certain words — _retreating_ — _cowards_ — _safe_ — _Lance_ — _Keith._

“We’re okay,” Keith said breathlessly. “We’re alive.”

 

Lance stood up, and Pidge hissed as she took in his battered appearance. “Lance, stay down, let me get the first aid kit.”

 

Allura glanced over her shoulder from the pilot’s chair, her eyes widening. And then they narrowed when her gaze fell on Dras. Keith saw her hands tighten on the ship’s controls, a grip that seemed painful.

 

Lance ignored Pidge, stumbling to Allura, telling her in a whisper, “Get us connected to Jacomir. We got a viewscreen on this little boat?”

 

“Yes,” Pidge answered impatiently, her hands trembling slightly as they reached for the nearest of Lance’s injures with a disinfectant wipe. “Lance, hold on …”

 

“No, we’re nearly done." Lance pushed Pidge's hands away. "Now. I don’t suppose you have a broadcast system on here? Speakers or something?”

 

“Actually yes, we do, it’s meant to emit low frequencies to act as camouflage for certain sensors that use —” Pidge began, her mouth running off into the science zone with little prompting.

 

“Great. Blast as loud as you can, get us lower, closer to the streets — I want as many people as possible to _hear this._ ” Lance braced himself on the back of Allura’s seat, smearing the fabric with both his blood and Dras’.

 

Allura did as he asked. Pidge gave up on treating Lance’s wounds, and instead focused on restraining Dras within the shuttle. Keith watched, blinking blood from his eyes as Pidge secured her with a set of metal cuffs she’d yanked from a compartment, a bright containment field around each limb as she locked them.

 

Keith took his shot at getting his feet beneath himself. He stood next to Lance, straightening his spine as Allura put them in contact with Jacomir, and then gently piloted the ship downwards, hovering roughly ten stories above the combating masses.

 

“Grand General Liolan, this is Allura of Altea — we have your fellow general, Keegin Dras, here with us.”

 

A split second later, Liolan appeared on the viewscreen. Keith stared hard into the pale pink face of the leader of Jacomir. Of the woman partially responsible for the existence of this planet and its people.

 

“I see you found your two comrades,” Liolan said calmly.

 

Keith knew that tone. Indifferent, a thin veneer of ice. Akros used it often ( _had, no longer, as he had been made into ashes just minutes ago_ ), and hearing it from the leader of Jacomir’s military made Keith want to unleash hell again. Every bit of the hell he and Lance had lived.

 

“Hey, hello there!” Lance spoke fairly forcefully despite his injured throat — that must be burning horrifically. He waved at the screen, and then waved to Dras behind himself — she was groggy, but twitching into consciousness now and then. “This is Keegin Dras. I’m sure you recognize her as your unofficial watchdog over this place. Probably fed you all kinds of interesting tidbits, am I right?”

 

Liolan stared for a long moment. “You must be one of The Two McClains.”

 

Lance clutched his torn shirt, turning to Keith with a simpering tone, “She _knows_ us, Keith. Wow, I’m just so … flattered.”

 

The shift was in an instant — one second Lance was joking, sarcastic, dry, and the next, he was the vicious murderer Keith had seen in that office, his vile threats sending both terror and tantalizing satisfaction through Keith — Dras _fucking had it coming,_ but not at this cost. Not at what it would do to the rest of this planet. And as a result, to Lance.

 

“You’re going to fucking step away. Step off. Do whatever the fuck keeps you happy on your paradise of a world. This planet? _Off-limits._ ”

 

“You have no leverage —”

 

“Oh, I have all the leverage in the world, asshole,” Lance said coldly. “ _Your_ world. You want to keep the violence off it? Whatever, do what you please. Keep sending all your unwanteds down here, none of us give a fuck. _Unless you fucking mess with us._ Then we’ll come on up there, maybe look for a new home. Live and let live, bastards. We weren’t looking for a revolution until Dras fucking _pushed._ Right, Dras?”

 

Lance went back and dragged her by the hair, closer to the viewscreen. Her restraints allowed her only so far. Liolan _flinched._

“One of your most vicious generals, right?” Lance let Dras make eye contact with Liolan and then dropped her hard to the floor of the shuttle. Both Allura and Pidge jumped at the heavy sound. “We had maybe a week to plan, and we were both half-dead while we did. Imagine what we can do now that we’re freshly victorious.”

 

“We could launch canons, wipe you out, and begin anew. Dras suggested as much, and we’re inclined to take her counsel on this — fire purifies all.” Liolan’s anger showed, but only just.

 

Lance had her.

 

“Ah, and there it is. You’re willing to murder an entire planet of people to have your way. Excellent. Except you set this entire thing up under the _oh so thin_ pretence of avoiding execution. So you might as well just start killing people again. But you find violence so _distasteful,_ don’t you?”

 

The irony, the sick pleasure Lance derived from twisting Jacomir’s hypocrisy back on itself, matched Keith’s own.

 

Keith leaned in close to the viewscreen. “We’ve got no interest in invading you. We’re willing to keep going the way it’s always been. You keep your squeaky clean record, and we keep living life the way we see fit.”

 

“Except _you two_ are leaving. Your threats are hollow.”

 

“As amazing as I am, I didn’t do this on my own,” Lance said, and now he wrapped an arm around Keith’s waist, resting more of his weight on him — he wasn’t as well as he appeared, but Keith kept the rising concern off his face. “We had help. From Yathir.” Liolan didn’t blink. “And Denna.”

 

And there was the final blow.

 

Liolan actually reeled back, her eyes huge in her face. “She wouldn’t —”

 

“But she did,” Lance said with a slow, lethal smile. “She did, and we’ll be leaving both of them keeping a watchful eye. Peaceful co-existence. But by all means, complicate your life with a complete restructure of your entire criminal justice system. Get ready to have to create all kinds of spin to justify this to your people, and maybe just start killing your unwanteds outright because, after all, it’s not like everyone you send here stands a chance of —”

 

“Fine.” Liolan’s voice was clipped, her face pale. “We’ll return to the previous state of affairs. May we request that Dras be restored to us?”

 

“If she survives the trip, she’s all yours. No promises.”

 

Liolan frowned, and Lance nodded to Allura, who knew instantly to cut the speakers off. Lance gestured at the screen, and Allura took over promptly, without hesitation and with a kind of viciousness Keith honestly had not expected.

 

“There is a war coming to your system.” She did not mince words. “They are the Galra Empire, and they will either destroy you or enslave you. We stand against them — us and an alliance of several systems, growing every quintant. If you think you can stand against them alone, consider the glimpses you’ve seen of our technology. They destroyed my planet and civilization. You will be nothing to them other than fodder.”

 

Liolan took all of this in, and Keith saw the skepticism in her eyes, though it seemed to be covering up a very real fear. _Good._ “Are you asking us to join this alliance against this enemy?”

 

“No.”

 

Lance and Keith _both_ swung their heads to stare with open mouths at Allura. She gave away nothing in her tone or her expression.

 

“No, civilizations as corrupt as your own are not welcome. But we will protect you nonetheless. We shall provide you with means to contact us. We shall be providing these same means to Yathir and Denna. We suggest you begin sending patrols to the furthest reaches of your domain. Listening posts, satellites, whatever means are at your disposal. And if the threat draws near, we will do our best to aid you. Perhaps even accept your aid in return. But not now. Not when the wounds you inflicted on _my family_ are still so fresh.”

 

Keith had considered Allura a friend before he and Lance had been stranded — even a close friend, as war had a way of cementing those kinds of connections — but to hear her claim him as family … _Keith, part-Galra, vicious mercenary,_ Princess Allura of Altea’s _family_ …

 

Liolan gave a curt nod and ended the connection without even asking when they would be arriving.

 

“This isn’t over.”

 

They all turned to Dras, who glared through pain-hazed eyes.

 

“Said every defeated villain ever,” Lance mocked. “Even if there is a sequel, it never turns out great for the bad guy — usually their ass is whooped to make way for the next, _cooler_ villain.” He walked over, staring down at her silently for a long moment. “Not sure how long it’ll be before we head back to Jacomir. Stay quiet and maybe in that time, we’ll get a doctor to look at that side.”

 

Somehow, Keith doubted this. He certainly didn’t want to waste medical supplies on Dras …

 

It hit him, just then … This was _finished_ _._ The leftover effort involved finding their friends and allies, ensuring medical attention for those who needed it, and dumping Keegin Dras on Jacomir’s doorstep …

 

And then he and Lance could leave. On the Castle. Could see their Lions again.

 

Keith sat down, abruptly, on the floor. Lance dropped down in nearly the same instant, exhaustion warring with a fresh burst of panic, which Keith immediately tried to soothe. “I’m fine, I’m … well, bleeding from a few places, but it’s okay, Lance.”

 

Lance breathed out heavily, his eyes closing momentarily, and then he fixated on each of Keith’s wounds, investigating with hands that shook from his weariness — the adrenaline was wearing off.

 

“We need to get you to the doctor,” Lance insisted urgently.

 

“Lance, we have cryo-pods, remember? You’ll be fine,” Pidge pointed out.

 

Lance froze, and Keith watched the same realization slam into him — saw Lance process the fact that the Castle hovering somewhere above them would soon be their home again. It would take them away from this place. Away from the blue skies not quite like Earth’s, but close. From the hot desert air and mountains that glowed in warm colours every sunset. From Brisha and Zan. From Yathir.

 

“I can’t … go to a cryo-pod. Need to be here, need to be _visible,_ ” Lance countered briskly. “We just staged a coup of sorts. We need to sort this shit out, give them a plan for the future, and make sure that we don’t fuck things up for them again. Keith, do you want, need to —”

 

“You know I’ve had far worse,” Keith interrupted, realizing that Lance was right — they had to remain, at least for a little while longer. “The doctor can patch me up just fine. I’m staying with you until we’ve figured this mess out.”

 

Lance’s smile consisted of a barely-there twitch of his lips, but his eyes seemed to be having trouble staying open, and the trembling had spread from his hands to his arms and legs. It was subtle, but Keith could see it clear as day.

 

Over. It was all over.

 

Dras had passed out again, Keith’s shoulder had a massive stab wound in it, and Lance had nearly blown himself to pieces, suffered a glancing burst from a shotgun, and almost been choked to death. All Keith wanted was to take a nap. Just a short nap. It seemed Lance had the same thought because even as Allura asked where they should land, even as Zan, Wesdru, and Brisha all started questioning what Lance and Allura had just told Jacomir … Lance ignored it all, crawling forward and collapsing onto Keith’s chest, face hidden in Keith’s blood-stained, sweat-damp neck and hair.

 

Keith fell back against the wall of the ship, and with Lance cradled in his arms and between his legs, he tumbled into unconsciousness, hazily registering Pidge’s suddenly frantic yells.

 

Eleven months, one week, and four days.

 

His last thought before he completely lost all awareness of the world around him was that he and Lance? _They’d survived._

 

****** 

_Part Eleven: Pidge_

_Fourth Day, Afternoon_

******

 

Pidge … had no idea what to do. What to think. Her brain worked to process, and it _hurt,_ but eventually thoughts rushed in, barely cohesive.

 

The battle had been a messy clash between violent beings willing, and in most cases _happy,_ to do whatever was necessary to stop Keegin Dras before she could ascend to a throne of her own making or seek to ravage their planet from above. Allura and Pidge had buzzed over the heads of the opposing forces, shocking them into mistakes, blinding them in a cloud of dust as Zan’s crew of fighters overtook them, and Wesdru’s mercenary bands cut them down without mercy.

 

Most of their time had been spent focusing on the snipers in the tower, shooting them at random, or passing close enough to the tower that the updraft from their ship blew them out of the windows and to the unforgiving concrete below.

 

She and Allura had listened to the various orders shouted by Shiro, Zan, Brisha, Yathir, and Wesdru. They’d used their position high in the sky to call out sudden shifts in a groups’ movements, or the arrival of more reinforcements on either side. Pidge was used to battles like this, so she could easily set aside the pain she associated with this place and just be the Green Paladin again. This was a worthy cause. Lance and Keith were right to oppose Dras.

 

Even if it was clear that Lance was chiefly motivated by revenge.

 

Which became apparent when he and Keith finally reached Dras. While Lance had uttered his icy, violent threats to Dras in that tower, Pidge’s hands shook as she inputted commands on her computer. All her senses informed her that person _was_ Lance, but this cold, hard fact was immediately rejected viscerally in her mind because _no, Lance couldn’t …_ But what she’d learned on this planet told her that _yes, Lance could._

Wesdru had even breathed out a quiet, _“Fuck,_ ” over their shared comm lines. Shocked, tremulous. And if the huge red-scaled woman with one eye burned out seemed petrified …

 

Keith had stopped him, but it had been … Pidge had been missing Dras’ end of the conversation, the comms picking up no sounds beyond the owner’s voice, so maybe the would-be-tyrant had provoked Lance, but Pidge knew she was grasping at straws. She wished her memory weren’t as precise as it was — wished time would blur the edges of that entire battle between Keith, Lance, Akros, and Dras.

 

Now, Lance and Keith had disappeared from her sight, dropping behind her chair and sending her heart into yet another series of painful spasms.

 

“Keith, Lance!” Pidge yelled, all but falling from her seat to reach them. She crawled over, seeing now that they looked completed drained of life. If not for the rise and fall of their chests, she would’ve been screaming for Allura to rush to the Castle. As it was, she exhaled her relief, murmuring to the frantic voices in her ear, “Sorry, nobody panic. They’re alive, just out.”

 

Pidge scanned them for anything that needed urgent care, and _damn their personal wishes_ if she found something.She would haul them up to the Castle herself if it was necessary. Maybe even if it wasn’t necessary. She didn’t care about the fate of this world; Lance and Keith had done _enough_ for these people (and to these people) … But if she did bring them up to the Castle and things descended into chaos …

 

“Allura, Pidge,” Yathir said their names gently. “We need to get Lance and Keith to the doctor. As they said, they need to be healed so they can withstand what comes after. Many are … not pleased that Dras lives. That we intend to send her to Jacomir.”

 

 _“You’re damn right about that!”_ Wesdru shouted.

 

“We’ll explain soon,” Yathir told her, voice brooking no argument.

 

“Should we stay?” Shiro asked, sounding exhausted.

 

“No,” Brisha said instantly. “We can handle things until they’re on the mend. Allura, the doctor will be waiting in Dagos. I told her to head straight to the inn and wait there as soon as we left.”

 

Yathir took a moment before speaking again. “Shiro, Brisha is right — you and the others may not be welcomed despite the fact you’ve been fighting alongside us. Go and restrain Dras in the cellar. The doctor should tend to her as well.”

 

“ _After_ Lance and Keith,” Hunk asserted. “Enough room for all of us in there, Allura?”

 

“It’ll be a bit tight.” Allura was already diving down towards the side entrance Brisha’s team had used to breach the basement of Dras’ tower. “Head out the way you came in — we’ll be there.”

 

“Maybe, Allura, we should say something to the forces here,” Shiro proposed. “Help Yathir and the others prevent more bloodshed —”

 

“Dras’ people are dead or dying. Some have fled,” Zan cut in. “Yathir and Brisha got the right of it, Shiro. People are angry, but plenty are cheering because _we’ve won._ The ones who are pissed off, we can get them to see the light.”

 

“Yeah, well, can’t wait to hear _this_ explanation. I guess whenever those two morons are up,” Wesdru said, her anger only partially subdued, “they can scare the rest of them into obedience just by being _alive._ ”

 

Nobody else questioned Yathir or Brisha’s orders. Allura landed on the remains of several cars that had been made into a makeshift barrier wall. Shiro, Hunk, Coran, and Matt rushed out of the basement. Brisha stood by the entrance, waving at the ship, a tired smile visible even at a distance.

 

Shiro was the first to board. He went right past Dras’ unconscious form to fall to his knees at Keith and Lance’s sides — his own face was half-coated in blood, a massive gash partially hidden by his now-stained-red white hair. His hands sought out their wounds, hissing between his teeth when he pulled Keith’s shirt to reveal a hole in his shoulder, oozing blood steadily. He then leaned in closer to study the bruises on Lance’s throat … Pidge had seen his blood-shot eyes when he’d been awake. Dras had nearly strangled him to death.

 

Her mind replayed the wheezing, muted sounds of him straining for air.

 

Of Keith’s rasping cry when Akros had stabbed him.

 

“Allura, get us to that doctor,” Shiro said sternly.

 

Hunk crowded in behind him, face grey, but Coran elbowed his way past _both_ of them, immediately whipping out a small medical kit, ordering everyone to, “Stay back — let me see to them until they’re back in Dagos.”

 

Pidge watched intently as Coran stopped the bleeding from Keith’s massive stab wound, and lightly spread a gel along the bruising of Lance’s throat. He then turned to the odd burns Lance had on his side, and the tiny bleeders he had all over — Coran used a set of tweezers to pull out … buckshot? She’d heard several shotgun blasts over the comms, muffled. Keith seemed to have missed out on getting hit.

 

Matt had stationed himself over by Dras, his gun pointed at her head. Pidge looked over at her brother, noting various bruises and cuts, but he seemed completely fine otherwise, and he smiled proudly at her. “Good job calling out those plays, Katie. I think you and Allura had a little too much fun with those snipers.”

 

“They were too scared to approach the windows near the end,” Allura said, a touch of smugness in her tone.

 

“Be sure to land near the entrance, and then set the ship in a holding pattern, invisible, as before — while no one has discovered your cloaking abilities, we best not chance it now so close to the end,” Coran said while he disinfected Keith’s scrapes. Both Lance and Keith’s hands were raw from climbing.

 

Pidge still wanted to just haul them up and away to the Castle, but she knew wars weren’t solely won on the battlefield — what happened in the aftermath was just as important, if not more so. Mistakes in the delicate limbo post-battle could mean a return to hostilities. Pidge had no idea what Lance, Keith, and Yathir had planned, but she wouldn’t be the reason why it all fell apart in the eleventh hour.

 

The doctor turned out to be an alien woman with fine beige scales covered with turquoise and gold accents. Her teeth were sharp, but her smile kind. She had scars like everyone else, but she carried herself regally. She refused to give them a name, and instead uttered quick, precise orders. The two unconscious men stirred slightly when carried up the stairs by Shiro and Hunk respectively, even though the two Paladins were mindful of their friends’ wounds. Despite the jostling, neither Lance nor Keith woke up

 

In the odd stillness of Dagos (as most of its inhabitants were still in Whiero), this doctor worked without asking for money first. Pidge knew this would be costly, as _everything_ cost _something_ here. No one worked for free. But the fact that she hadn’t demanded payment upfront had Pidge liking her a little bit.

 

Aside from the doctor, only Pidge and Shiro stayed in Lance and Keith’s room, Shiro standing guard by the open door, and Pidge seated by the window, on a dresser, as out of the way as possible. Hunk, Coran, Allura, and Matt were waiting downstairs — the doctor had circumvented any discussion over who was staying by pointing at Pidge and saying, _“You’re small and not likely to get in the way,”_ and then at Shiro, _“you need to get that cut on your head looked at, so stay and lend me a hand first.”_

Shiro and Pidge had then helped the doctor undress Lance and Keith, and Pidge had been left awestruck in the worst way …

 

Lance and Keith in the nude had no effect on her — there had been several instances throughout their paladin lives where decontamination had involved a very thorough scrub, all of them crammed into a single room and cleaned _in totality._ So the sight of them naked wasn’t new, but …

 

Once Keith’s shirt was cut away, she’d finally seen his side, the burn mark from the explosion that had nearly killed him nearly three weeks ago. And it didn’t end there. Pidge had never seen so many scars on one body before — the more the doctor had cleaned up the fresh blood and grime, the more had been revealed. Both Lance and Keith were marked up from head to toe, and Pidge heard Shiro’s sharp intake of breath as he stared hard at each and every scar.

 

Side-by-side on their bed, Lance and Keith didn’t so much as flutter an eyelash during their disrobing. They stayed freakishly still as the doctor numbed certain areas with quick injections, and as she went about disinfecting and stitching up stab wounds, bullet holes, and rubbing gel into burns.

 

“How … how often have you helped them?” Pidge asked tentatively.

 

“Six times now,” the doctor answered promptly, without looking up from her clean stitching of Keith’s shoulder.

 

Pidge swallowed hard at that answer — six times. Meaning, Lance and Keith had been near death at least five other times, requiring the kind of medical care they couldn’t supply themselves. She imagined they would tend to all smaller wounds on their own, to save gems so they could leave …

 

While her brain continued flitting back and forth, considering both past and present, Pidge watched the doctor. The alien woman’s gold turquoise eyes narrowed in concentration as she finished up Keith’s shoulder. She then transferred her careful ministrations to Lance’s throat, rubbing a thick cream gently along the bruising; after finishing off with what she had obviously considered the first priority injuries, the doctor began to investigate in an orderly fashion, starting at the top of their heads and moving down, alternating between the two of them efficiently.

 

“Out of the good stuff, but this will do,” the doctor muttered as she switched back over to Lance again, focusing on the sporadic, small burns littering his right side and leg.

 

Pidge’s mind buzzed with all manner of things. In the silence, it was difficult to quell her anxiety, her fear for the immediate future, her concerns over the long term, a bitter message from Lance she still had hidden away on her computer, and how best to _destroy Jacomir’s government_ without potentially harming innocents. That last one was probably best to concentrate on, instead of cataloguing each grievous old injury on Lance and Keith.

 

There was a loud _slam_ from downstairs, jerking Pidge off her perch on the dresser. She landed on her feet, hands on her pistols. Shiro had turned to stare down the hallway — and Pidge could hear more noise floating up from two stories below them. Voices. Shouting. Arguing.

 

“No,” the doctor said, grabbing Shiro’s wrist. “You stay, I need to fix that cut on your head. Little one, you go. Tell that lot to keep it down, especially if they expect any medical attention for their sorry hides.”

 

Pidge took the stairs two at time, hearing Allura’s voice the most clearly as she demanded, “ _This isn’t a negotiation, it is done!”_

Too many words spewed forth from too many people for Pidge to pick out any one person. As she reached the first floor, all but leaping down the last flight of stairs, she took in a raucous scene: her brother, Hunk, Allura, and Coran, all of them with their weapons out, facing off against several bleeding and grimy mercs — including Ollewa, Gunthra, Hiljonu, and Caspor.

 

In contrast, there also stood a very cleanly dressed Liruo, who had a barbed whip clenched in her fist as she spat out, “This isn’t your world, witch. Those McClain bastards said Dras would be _dead by now._ They’ve _lied to us._ We demand Dras’ _head._ ”

 

Knowing the many crimes these people had committed had terrified Pidge last night, had her vibrating with tension while Lance threatened, insulted, and charmed his way around that war council … Now Pidge felt no fear, only righteous frustration that they _dare_ try and disrupt what Lance and Keith had nearly _died_ for.

 

“You had no interest in fighting her, as I recall,” Allura said icily to Liruo. “You didn’t risk your life battling today, and so I see no reason to take your words into account. _I was there. Caspor, Ollewa, they were there._ I will address their concerns, and you will _know your place._ ”

 

The whip came at Allura, but she was down on one knee already, two throwing knives striking Liruo in the hands — at the same time, Allura’s arm came up, her thick leather coat catching the whip, the momentum wrapping the end of it around that arm a few times. Allura yanked hard, and the whip grip was now in her other hand. She snapped it threateningly at a few thugs who dared to approach — one was quickly shot in the foot by Coran, who leaned easily at the bar right next to the princess, his eyes dark.

 

Ollewa pushed Liruo aside, growling. “She’s got that much right, Liruo. Damn near died out on those streets while you was usin' that whip on your whores over money owed. I lost over two dozen good men and women today, so I don’t give a _shit_ what you think.”

 

“I think you should take a rest over there.” Caspor sneered. “While those of us who actually had a stake in this war get our just rewards.”

 

Pidge _hated_ Caspor _,_ hated every aspect of his existence because she _knew_ that he wanted Lance; she  _knew_ that Caspor had done _something_ to Lance, according to Zan’s vague words about _an unsavoury encounter._ But right then, he served a purpose — he had his brutish guards manhandle Liruo down onto a chair, guns pointed at her head … Therefore, Pidge didn’t enact any of the revenge fantasies she’d been entertaining since she’d seen Caspor for the first time at the war council the night before.

 

“Liruo, you’re risking your life every time you open that sorry mouth,” Gunthra said lightly. “Keep going, I could still gut a few more folks today. Including and _especially_ you. And Dras. Which is why we’re all here.”

 

“Send that piece of shit out to meet her executioners!” Hiljonu shouted to eager, bloodthirsty cheers.

 

Pidge gripped her pistols tightly as she stared at all the thugs filling the inn — Yathir wasn’t back yet, and they could really use him now.

 

“Jacomir would likely have bombed you out of existence if Lance had done what he’d wanted and displayed her decapitated head for them to see,” Allura continued on in an unforgiving tone. This was the harshest Pidge had _ever_ seen her. “She gets sent back to Jacomir. Akros is dead. You’ve won.”

 

“ _Won what_?” Ollewa demanded. “Jacomir could just send down someone worse than that heinous piece of garbage —”

 

“And maybe they get her back and bomb us all to hell anyway,” Caspor said, his hands gesturing to everyone in the room, all of them nodding along and cussing their agreement. “We don’t appreciate being _lied to and left out of that damn decision.”_

Gunthra grinned cuttingly. Pidge noted that her face, her coat, practically every inch of her was splattered in blood, but she appeared to have no visible injuries. “I’ve got a certain amount of appreciation for those two, but they know I’ll happily gut them if they betray us. And that’s what this is feeling like — _betrayal_.”

“Where are those two little fuckers?” Ollewa glanced at each of them, and then his eyes flicked up past Pidge towards the stairs. She bristled, her guns cocked and ready as a few others gazed up in anger. “Get ‘em down here to explain themselves.”

 

“No,” Allura said curtly.

 

“No?!” Ollewa snapped. “Don’t need your damn permission, I’ll drag their carcasses —”

 

“Drag whose carcasses?” came Shiro’s voice.

 

Pidge didn’t dare take her eyes off the people in the room, but she heard Shiro take slow steps down the stairs until he was right at her back. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see his hand faintly glowing purple. It drew gazes, concerned ones and curious ones, but mostly it had everyone flinching because Shiro had a terrifying glare when pushed — and Pidge could tell that he was unleashing it full force now.

 

“Couldn’t help but overhear as the good doctor was fixing me up. You’ve got another thing coming if you think we’re letting you near Lance or Keith right now. They had a plan. They executed it. You may continue on with your lives.” Shiro flexed the fingers of his metal hand. “I have no problems facing anyone who thinks they can get past me. Word to the wise — I helped train Lance and Keith. So if they’ve ever kicked your ass? Imagine what I can do to you.”

 

“Sweetheart, that sounds like more of an invitation than a threat,” Gunthra said with a wink, a dangerous smile on her face. “I’ve put down your two boys a few times, and I would _love_ to get my hands on you.”

 

Pidge grit her teeth as Ollewa came forward, even as Matt, Coran, and Hunk all stood up from their seats at the bar.

 

“Let’s see what you’ve got, outsiders.”

 

Every weapon was up and pointed at someone — Pidge had her guns at the heads of the two crooks nearest to the stairs, while Allura cracked the whip menacingly. Hunk, Coran, and Matt all formed ranks, weapons at the ready, but before a knife could be thrown or a trigger pulled, the door burst open, knocking two mercenaries clean off their feet, sending them flying into others, causing a domino effect as Yathir stood on the threshold, his shotgun out, his face streaked with sweat and desert dust.

 

Pidge relaxed minutely. He marched past everyone without saying a word, and the crowd (those who were still standing) parted for him. Yathir nodded at Allura, and once he stood behind his bar, he asked her, “Dras is restrained?”

 

“Yes. Wesdru arrived a few minutes ago, and she and her crew are guarding her. Once the doctor is done attending to our injured, we will send her down to Dras.”

 

“You’re going to help _heal that_ —” Ollewa burst out.

 

Yathir didn’t let him finish, as he continued with his level voice, “ _Good._ Now, you all _know_ that I don’t allow this kind of behaviour in my establishment. Why are you risking it now?”

 

“Yathir, we are _done_ with this _bullshit, you hear me?_ ” Ollewa appeared apoplectic with rage, his blue skin flushed a deep indigo. “I don’t give an ikuril’s asshole if you start flinging bombs at me, we need to _finish this._ ”

 

“Jacomir will finish us if you don’t calm yourself down,” Yathir said, confirming Allura’s assumption. “We lied because we knew _none_ of you would fight in this battle if Dras was intended to survive at the end.” This received shouts, threats and brandished weapons. Yathir cocked his shotgun and everyone went silent, albeit begrudgingly. Yathir resumed speaking placidly. “Dras may have been the general who shamed them the most, but she has admirers still on that godforsaken rock. You kill her and you’ll have them thinking we’re a bigger threat to them than we are. And they will finish us.”

 

“How the fuck would you know that!” Liruo spoke up, her hands clenched into fists, nearly spitting as she yelled, “I say we don’t take a chance that Dras gets away with it, gets a shot at seeking her revenge on _all of us_ —”

 

“Gunthra, you fought in the West Continental campaign — you remember what crimes Keegin Dras committed? The last battle she won?” Yathir had set down his shotgun and went to his sink, daring to turn his back on the massive crowd of furious criminals.

 

Gunthra cocked her head, staring hard at the innkeeper, before she let out a sigh and slowly began to speak. “The Eradication of Rys Opia. She let a whole faction of her troops die, fooling the enemy into thinking that they had won by superior numbers alone. And when the weeklong celebration was over, she sent her guerrillas in to butcher every last one of them in bed. But she let several survivors escape to the neighbouring towns, and the survivors spread the false information that all Dras had left was that small unit of guerrillas. When they amassed forces to come take back the capitol, she used the rest of her soldiers to burn the city to the ground … and then moved on to those same neighbouring towns, murdering every last person in her way.”

 

A grim silence fell over everyone there. Pidge had read about this in the files she’d hacked, but hearing Gunthra spell it out, no inflection in her voice … She could see in the eyes of many of the convicted killers here … They hadn’t realized who Dras truly was until that moment. Guns and knives were lowered. No one dared speak.

 

Shiro stepped around Pidge, taking up a position at her side — no one would get past them up the stairs, but it didn’t seem like anyone wanted to anymore, morbidly enthralled by the turn in the conversation.

 

“You know some people on Jacomir whisper that she was the true hero of the war?” Yathir turned back around, slightly cleaner now, his smile humourless. “The Cleansing Wrath, they call her.”

 

“Lots of us older folks did horrible shit during that war, Yathir, it’s why we’re _here._ ” Ollewa stood firm, but he no longer frothed at the mouth. His words came out far more precisely. “Gunthra, and me, maybe we killed some folk who surrendered, or bombed villages with both soldiers and civilians inside, but ain’t no one here who killed people like Dras did. She dragged out them battles — didn’t care how many soldiers it cost her ‘cause the game was more important to her. Killing every last enemy troop was the only way she felt like she’d _won_. And nobody on this fucking rock cared — she were one of us … Until she started acting like a fucking general again. Thinkin’ we’d fall in line like her soldiers did, straight to slaughter. We weren’t gonna give her the chance to unleash her Cleansing Wrath on us.”

 

“There are no generals here, Yathir,” Gunthra said, and the playfulness was gone, no more levity in her voice or face. “We’re all the same gutter trash. We rise and fall depending on how well we fight in this game. Dras has lost. Time to pay.”

 

“You remember the Three Bombs of Caskell? All those front-line hospitals gone within three minutes of each other,” Yathir said, ignoring the bristling from Gunthra, Ollewa, and Hiljonu. “Remember how much praise that got from higher up? Followed by the death of General Kiuys — sent home successful from battle, blown up right as he landed back in home country. In front of his children. I think his youngest girl was caught in the blast. She’d been running into her father’s arms.”

 

Pidge stared at Yathir, choking horror rising in her throat, furious tears springing into her eyes. Remembered Lance spewing his hatred at Dras, about how she and her fellow generals were guilty of _planting bombs in the suitcases of soldiers sent home from the frontlines._

 

This was the man who had saved Lance and Keith.

 

“The bomb,” she whispered, and everyone turned to her. Yathir didn’t quiet her, only watched her with those keen grey eyes. “The bomb Lance planted on Dras. Small, precise, maximum damage, but still keeping her alive to bleed out slowly …” More of Lance’s venomous words to Dras surfaced in her mind. “You taught him that. You made it for him.”

 

He dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I did.”

 

Gunthra stared in open shock, as did Ollewa and Hiljonu. She breathed out, “You’re General Jonerys Regoreth.”

 

“Yathir is my real name, as a matter of fact,” he disagreed. “The High Command gave most of us generals aliases as we ascended the ranks — and as our infamy grew. Dras refused. She was the only one who used her true name on and off the battlefield.”

 

“You were never convicted!” Ollewa pointed a shaking finger. “They gave you a medal. Offered you a seat in government.”

 

“I was not the only one,” Yathir said, and he seemed … tired. “I was not the worst of the generals, as you well know. But once the war was over and the _worst_ were sent here … They felt safe keeping a few of us on Jacomir, just in case our brutality was ever needed again. Public outcry had been dealt with, especially once Dras was sent down here. I slipped under their radar. My feats were mostly only discussed within the military. And so I know them all very well. Especially Liolan, the current Grand General.”

 

Yathir inhaled and exhaled, and not a single person dared speak during his pause.

 

“Dras had already been discussing potential orbital bombardment with Liolan — Fregola hinted as much to us when we interrogated him. And so _I know_ that if Liolan suspected me of being part of this rebellion in any significant way, she would destroy us all. If she believed that even without me, The Two McClains were capable of organizing a true uprising, she would destroy us all. You all heard Lance’s ultimatum, his insistence that all we want is for life to resume as usual. He and Keith did that to save us. Aside from the former generals and soldiers on this world, who they consider either too loyal to betray Jacomir, or too savage to care to, that government believes everyone here to be mindless, unrestrained criminals. No minds worthy of concerning themselves with. And they need to go on believing that, or we will _all be destroyed._ ”

 

Absolute silence reigned.

 

Yathir braced two of his hands on the bar counter. “Now, Lance and Keith will be around to discuss some important news with you all tomorrow. And to reassure you that they do, in fact, live, and that this was _always the plan._ For now, get back to your bases. Tend to your injuries and injured. Celebrate today for what it was — a victory.”

 

Coran cocked his gun very _loudly_ in the ensuing quiet. Pidge smirked as she, Hunk, and Matt followed suit in harmony. Shiro’s hand glowed and his jaw clenched as he stared down each and every mercenary who dared meet his gaze. Allura held the whip in a deceptively loose and casual grip, her own eyes narrowed in threat.

 

Ollewa pointed at Yathir. “Are they alive, or are you just stringing us along?”

 

“It would be a ridiculous lie, as it would soon unravel. They will travel to Hutton first, as it is closest,” Yathir said mildly. “But I’ll be sure to tell them that Byothal will be their next stop.”

 

“And you will get to see Keegin Dras before we deliver her to Jacomir.” Allura coiled the whip as she spoke. “You will see that everything is as we say. Anything beyond that, you will learn tomorrow.”

 

Gunthra sheathed her knives, leaving her hands braced on her belt. “Fuck me. I think this day has been long enough. Gonna take your word for it because I can’t stand on these sore feet any more.” She gave Yathir a mock salute, though her eyes were serious, even frightened. “Good night all.”

 

Caspor let Liruo stand up. She was pale, shaking, and she didn’t raise her eyes to Yathir as she darted out the door, her men hot on her tail. Ollewa and Caspor both departed shortly after, murmuring to each other too softly for Pidge to hear.

 

As everyone dangerous filtered out of the inn, Pidge finally got to see two familiar faces lingering in a far corner. “Brisha! Czanliu!”

 

They came forward, and Brisha asked, as soon as the last interloper was out of the door, “Are Lance and Keith all right?”

 

“The doctor says they need to sleep until tomorrow, no interruptions,” Shiro said, a smile forming now that they were alone. “Then they need to take it slow for at least a week after that. They’re passed out right now, and she injected them with a low dose, mild healing tonic? Something that’s supposed to keep them out and speed up the healing a bit.”

 

“Right,” Brisha sighed in relief. “I’m familiar.” Then her expression hardened. “So we’re not publically executing Dras, then? You think Jorlack is going to accept that?”

 

“Yes, because he knew already. We passed on all available information before the war council, and he understood completely that survival is of the utmost importance.” Yathir had begun laying out food, and Pidge had _no idea_ where it was coming from, but the smell of it gave her stomach a kick-start — it started growling, demanding sustenance.

 

“Denna will have no issues with this. Though I suspect you’re going to have trouble with the others,” Zan said, sparing a quick glance to his sister before speaking to Yathir again. “Even though they’re … pretty terrified of you now.”

 

“There are worse war criminals here.” The innkeeper smiled when Pidge snagged a plate full of casserole for herself. “I wasn’t a particularly infamous one outside of military circles.”

 

“You … you’re really not going to kill her. Not even a bullet as you send her off to Jacomir. Or a bomb, like Lance suggested … like the one …” Brisha squeezed her hand into a tight fist — the hand missing two fingers. “I was born in Ithorla. I don’t know or care about the war, Yathir. I care about what she’s done _here,_ to _us._ To hundreds of people who worked for her.”

 

Zan stepped in a little closer to Brisha, and Coran’s face softened as he took in her trembling hands. “Oh, I am sorry, Brisha. Sorry that you cannot get the justice you so richly deserve. But what remains of that woman is negligible at best. She will not be fighting fit. She will scarcely be functional.”

 

“Well, we’ll see about that,” said the doctor, trooping down the stairs with her large medicine bag tossed over her shoulders. “Why don’t you take me down to her, and I’ll have a look myself. Brisha, I’ll drop you if you try —”

 

“I won’t hurt her. Maybe it’ll help. Seeing her in pieces,” Brisha compromised. “Zan, could you …?”

 

“Yeah, of course. Wanted to have a look myself anyway. And see how Wesdru is doing. Her crew saved my hide a few times today.”

 

Brisha smiled weakly. “Better thank her for that then. Thank you, Yathir. And all of you — you didn’t have to do this.”

 

“We told you, Brisha,” Pidge said with her own sincere smile; it felt very strange on her face, a concentrated effort. “It’s what we do.”

 

Brisha came over and hugged her. Pidge embraced her back, and then waved at both her and Zan as they went out the back door and towards the cellar.

 

Shiro stopped the doctor, grasping one of her hands between his. “Thank you. For saving their lives.”

 

“They probably would’ve survived without me this time,” the doctor said honestly. “But this way they’re more likely to be fighting fit within a couple of days. Believe it or not, I like it when my patients not only survive, but thrive after I’m through with them.” She nodded once at Yathir and then proceeded after Zan and Brisha.

 

Allura turned to Yathir, the whip she’d taken off of Liruo attached to her belt now. She rested one hand on it as she perched on a barstool, taking a plate of food for herself. “I assume now we discuss the real war.”

 

“I’ve already heard some of it from Lance and Keith, so don’t trouble yourself, Princess,” he said respectfully. “They must be the ones to explain the outside threat we face to all significant players here. I don’t know enough to speak with confidence on the matter, and they won’t trust any of you as outsiders. But there are more concrete concerns you can aid with — do you have the ability to, as you said to Jacomir, provide us with a means of communication?”

 

“We can do better than that,” Matt said, sitting down next to Allura. “We can give you communicators that will reach us no matter where we are. Granted, depending on how far out, they may take a few days or longer to reach, but I feel confident we can improve upon the probes we used to track Lance and Keith down in the first place.”

 

Hunk cleared his throat. “And maybe we can set up some kind of basic wireless network so you can communicate between towns? It won’t be much — no video, just audio …”

 

“That would be most helpful,” Yathir said. “In terms of actual defenses, lest you cannot reach us for those few days you mentioned, Lance and Keith said something about barriers?”

 

“Particle barriers?” Hunk scratched his head. “Yeah, ah … maybe we can engineer something small that’ll protect this inn —”

 

“What about something to protect each town? To protect Whiero? Not only from these Galra,” he said the name with an odd accent, but no one corrected him. “But also in case Jacomir are less logical than I believe them to be.”

 

“That would take some time,” Hunk admitted, and he frowned, staring down at his plate of food. Pidge understood — she wanted to leave _yesterday,_ and now it was sounding like they had at least four or more days of work ahead of them.

But maybe it was for the best. Maybe Lance and Keith needed the time to say good-bye to everyone. To really make sure that they’d succeeded in restoring the status quo before leaving for good. Pidge had a habit of double and triple checking her math before proceeding to the next step of her scientific process, and that extended to each following step. This was messier than that, but she felt the same principle applied — and it was far more important to be _sure_ in this situation.

 

“There would be some danger in gifting this planet with technology that advanced,” Allura advised regretfully. “While a particle barrier is not an offensive weapon, we’ve been quite covert and careful about demonstrating our advanced capabilities.”

 

“I’m aware. But you recall there is a shield around this entire planet. It is not a difficult concept to explain that same shield on a smaller scale. No one need know that these smaller shields are far more powerful than the one Jacomir has imposed on this world.” Yathir sipped more of his drink. “Lance and Keith have done a very good job of concealing their own advanced technology — the computer programs they use mostly. They hid their armour and weapons as soon as I brought them here. No one suspects anything. It should be safe for you to help us. And then you’ll be gone.”

 

His lips pulled downward, and Pidge caught that flash of sadness … A surge of pity had her aching a little for him. She could not forget who he was, what he’d done … But if not for him, Lance and Keith would be dead. She could set aside the new information for now.

 

“Yathir …” Shiro leaned against a wall, his arms crossed, and Pidge flashed back to a few days again, to the Shiro who had lashed out in protective anger on Lance and Keith’s behalf. An echo of that anger was present in Shiro’s posture, but his voice was far calmer. “Why did you let Lance risk everything with that bomb?”

 

Hunk gulped audibly. “Yeah, I kinda want an answer to that too.”

 

Yathir finished serving drinks, taking up a slouched pose against the cupboards of liquor and food behind him. Pidge’s eyes flicked to a few of the screens, the cameras showing the emptiness around the inn — no one was out and about tonight, all of them at home, licking their wounds. Hopefully celebrating a win, which would mean less trouble for Lance and Keith …

 

“Lance would’ve killed her outright. I offered the kind of revenge that mirrored the act he sought vengeance for. I couldn’t control what he would do in the end. I made that bomb as non-lethal as possible. I tried to slake his bloodlust. But I knew it might not work. He might still kill her …” Yathir let loose a long, slow breath. “I was hoping Keith would be the staying hand. Which he was. And if Dras had died regardless, I was prepared with alternate plans for the consequences. But I had faith that Lance would see reason. He would not sacrifice all of us for his vendetta, justified though it may have been.”

 

“It was a huge risk you took — not just with this revolution, but with the lives of my family,” Shiro said bluntly. “You risked their survival … If Lance had decided to shove that bomb in her face, it if had gone off and hurt him more seriously than it already did, if —”

 

“ _If_ is not a word we really use much around here.” Yathir lifted a class full of liquor towards Shiro, who reached out and took it. Yathir had a drink of his own in another hand. “Once the results are in, all other possibilities cease to matter.”

 

“You kept your identity a secret for your entire life here,” Coran said, apropos of nothing. “What will you do now?”

 

“It will be bothersome, but hopefully they will soon forget and move on.” Yathir finished his drink with a long chug, swapping his empty glass for a full one afterwards. “Like I said, I’m not the only war criminal here. Though I do stand the auspicious of honour of joining Dras and Denna as one of those who volunteered to come — in mine and Denna’s case, as she said, some of us wanted to pay for what we saw as crimes, though the upper ranks of the military and government wanted to hold us up as heroes.”

 

“Denna …” Pidge trailed off, feeling the need to duck under Yathir’s sharp stare. “She … she’s probably the one I understand the least. She didn’t fight in the war, not the way you did.”

 

“No. But she was the First Lieutenant of Kisoruin — the best military school on the entire planet. And we, all of us here who fought and became generals, were her students. Liolan was one of her earliest apprentices, as I recall. Denna’s files have been sealed for many years, and very few are alive who remember what gained her the honour of heading that institution.” Yathir took a swig from his glass. “I never asked her. And so, no one on Jacomir would ever presume to deny her anything. Or risk her wrath.”

 

That had been what was missing from Pidge’s research. Denna’s records had been purged from the system long before Pidge hacked her way in. All she had was the long list of Generals connected to Denna (Yathir’s real name amongst them), and the offenses some enterprising young lawyer had tried to partially attribute to her as an accessory to war crimes. But no judge appeared willing to even charge her. Out of respect? Out of fear?

 

 _Enough._ She finished off the food on her plate, chugged her glass of juice, and sagged low in her seat. _Enough for this day._

 

Enough for trying to solve the kinds of tribulations that would take weeks, months … Pidge sagged back into her brother, who had already stood up and moved behind her. Allura put a hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps then, we should reconvene tomorrow. I know it’s still light out but … I think I’m going to call it a night.” The hand on Pidge’s shoulder squeezed a bit.

 

The sun hadn’t even begun to set, yet Pidge was in full agreement. She just wanted to sleep the rest of this away. A part of her was somewhat excited by the idea of building these particle barriers with Hunk, Coran, and Matt, but that part was buried deep under several layers of physical and mental exhaustion.

 

“Yeah,” Pidge agreed wearily. “I vote in favour of this.”

 

“I think Yathir and I will talk strategy for the morrow then,” Coran suggested, tilting his head towards Shiro. “Would you feel up to that? Did the doctor suggest bed rest for you as well?”

 

“She did, but I can wait until sunset.” Shiro pushed himself off the wall and took the seat Allura vacated. “Matt or Hunk, either one of you …”

 

“I’ll stay,” Matt said decisively. “Hunk, Pidge, you guys go get some sleep.”

 

“You sure?” Hunk’s voice faded partway, and then he yawned hugely.

 

“Yeah, buddy, I think it’s time for sleep for most of us. I don’t think anyone slept last night. And today … was a tough one.” Matt all but lifted Pidge off her stool, pushing her towards Allura, who was waiting by the stairs. “We’ll debrief everyone tomorrow. After Lance and Keith are up too.”

 

“Oh, we should talk about when we’ll take Dras back to —” Allura began, taking a few steps back to the bar. Coran stood up and waylaid her with a gentle grip on her upper arms.

 

“Tomorrow.” He smiled at her. “We’ve bought ourselves at least that much time. Better face what comes next with a full night’s rest.”

 

Allura gripped Coran’s forearms in return, her eyes studying his face closely. She relaxed after a few seconds. “All right. You’ve convinced me. But don’t you stay up late, either!”

 

“Oh, I expect we’ll be nodding off in less than an hour, so let's get started,” Matt said cheerfully. “Go on.”

 

Pidge waved at them all, and Hunk wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they both weaved their way up the stairs to their rooms on the second floor. Pidge glanced up the next set of steps that led to the third floor — to where Lance and Keith slept, having missed all of this mess. Tomorrow morning they would hear all about it. Tomorrow morning, the clean up began. The set-up for a Galra incursion. Creating contacts and defenses … the last stages and then, at last, _home._

Hunk had guided Pidge to her room in the space of an eye blink, or so it felt to her sleep heavy mind. He opened the door, giving her a soft push inside. “Need any help?”

 

Pidge waved him off, swaying somewhat drunkenly towards her bed. She kicked off her boots as she went. “Nah. Just … cannot compute anymore. Sleep.”

 

“Yeah …” Hunk waited until she’d half collapsed onto her small narrow bed, and he turned away as she began pulling at her socks and unbuttoning her shirt, fumbling everything. “Okay, I’ll be … right next-door. Unconscious, so of no use to anyone whatsoever. G’night.”

 

“Night.” Pidge fell back onto the flimsy mattress, wrestling off the rest of her clothes until she was left in a loose tank top and her shorts. She stared up at the ceiling, not bothering to get under the blankets.

 

For once, she was too tired to review her day or rehash any pain or worry; she just drifted off into the black, certain that now was the time to shut it all down and simply wait for what would come next. Hopefully, what came next was blissful, uninterrupted sleep.

 

(And then home, _finally, please, let this be over._ )

 

****** 

_Part Twelve: Keith_

_Tenth Day … Last Day_

******

 

The sun crawled up the sky leisurely, the grey of dawn lingering in their room. Keith had his eyes open, watching Lance’s face become clearer as the glow brightened. He slept so peacefully, hands curled loosely in the space between them. Keith slid his own hand towards one of Lance’s, tangling their fingers. After another few minutes of sunrise, he lifted that hand to his lips, kissing along the knuckles softly.

 

Blue eyes fluttered. Keith slowly released his grip, not wanting to wake Lance, but it seemed Lance was already stirring, those long brown fingers flexing, seeking Keith’s hand again before his eyes finally opened.

 

“Hey,” he said in his gravely morning voice. “We don’t need to be up yet.”

 

“We don’t. But I was up anyway. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

 

“It’s fine.” Lance cleared his throat, his voice still low and soft when he asked, “You sleep okay?”

 

“Mm,” Keith hummed. Since this past week had been so jam-packed, they’d been crashing soundly each night. “You?”

 

“Too good,” Lance said with a lopsided smile, his eyes sliding to half-mast. “Sort of wanna keep going.”

 

“We can for a bit. I think Hunk, Matt, and Coran are running the last few tests on the barrier in Whiero this morning. Yathir mentioned everyone coming by to see Dras after lunch.”

 

“Right.” Lance slid a little closer to Keith, until their noses were almost brushing. “So go back to sleep then.”

 

“You wanted to see Jorlack,” Keith reminded Lance, but his own eyes were already closing. “We can go … see him for lunch … follow him on his way back here …”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” Lance murmured.

 

They drifted off. When Keith’s eyes blinked open again, the sun was out in full force. His ears picked up muffled voices from down below. Lance had slinked in even closer at some point, and Keith had one arm wrapped around him, the other serving as a pillow for Lance’s head — he felt Lance’s steady breaths against his collarbone.

 

They couldn’t put it off any longer. Keith kissed Lance’s forehead, hardly needing to move to do so, and whispered, “C’mon, we’ve gotta get going.”

 

Lance’s breathing hitched. He took in a lungful of air, tickling Keith’s neck on the exhale. “Could use some motivation …” One of his hands slid down along Keith’s back, and then pushed Keith’s hips into his.

 

Normally Keith would play at being too grouchy, too tired to indulge Lance, until Lance cajoled him with his usual combination of puppy dog eyes and sultry smirks … But not this morning. This morning, he basked in the softness of their mattress, perfectly conformed to their bodies — the blankets that no longer itched because they’d washed them so many times, and the pillows that had been too firm, but now Keith couldn’t imagine anything better to lay his head on.

 

And he couldn’t imagine kissing Lance, holding him close, the closest they could get, on any other bed but this one, in the room with the broken wardrobe and the window that let golden orange sunlight spill across their naked skin.

 

Lance’s hands were leaving fresh marks behind. He clutched Keith so desperately that Keith tried to sooth him, brushing the lightest of kisses along the yellow-green marks around Lance’s neck. “It’s okay,” Keith breathed out. “We’re okay.”

 

He didn’t get a chance to say anything else, since Lance seemed determined to steal the air from his lungs with an all-consuming kiss. They took their time, drawing it out until they were wide-awake and yearning for release. Keith stifled his cry in Lance’s chest, bent over him and shaking. Lance’s hand flew up to his own mouth, muted noises escaping as he arched his back and then collapsed bonelessly, hand falling away to allow a sigh room to breathe. Keith followed him down, covering him completely.

 

Several minutes passed before Lance spoke again. “Shower?”

 

“Just a shower?” Keith said against Lance’s ear, having stretched out enough to put his head on the same pillow Lance rested on.

 

“I mean, if your refractory period is that good, I’m willing to help you out, but I’m pretty sure I’m done for the next hour. Gimmie time, querido.” Lance snickered when Keith pinched his side.

 

Keith sat up, bracing himself on Lance’s hips as he did so, and then carefully swung his legs over and down the bed. He wobbled to his feet and staggered towards the bathroom. “Fine, me first then.”

 

Lance waved a lazy hand at him. “By all means. Wake me when you’re done.”

 

It took them both maybe half an hour to get cleaned up and dressed for the day; Lance donned a soft pair of dark brown leather pants, patch-free, and an elaborately stamped leather coat that reached his knees. He winked at Keith, striking a pose, his white shirt unbuttoned nearly to mid-chest, his prized cowboy hat perched at a jaunty angle.

 

Lance had missed his midnight blue leather coat quite a bit after they woke up from their brief healing coma — it been thoroughly destroyed by Dras. Keith sought to remedy that by ducking out on their first meeting with Jorlack, the day after Dras was captured; he bought Lance a similar jacket in a richer shade of blue, nearly matching his eyes, with silver buttons down the front and on the cuffs. Lance had been ridiculously happy with it, and Keith didn’t care about wasting what few gems they had left. It wasn’t like they needed to save up anymore.

 

That had been five days ago, and now they planned to see Jorlack again to maybe finalize a few things and … to say good-bye.

 

Keith pulled on his own crimson coat — it had been sewn and patched up relatively well (thanks to Zan’s considerable skills), and he knew it would be making the journey with him back to the Castle.

 

“Right,” he said, finishing off by strapping on his knives and shoving his feet into his boots. “Let’s see who else is up.”

 

With the exception of the three engineers currently in Whiero, everyone was downstairs, each of them concentrating on eating food, cleaning weapons, or typing away on their computers.

 

“I will never be knocking on your door to bring you down for breakfast. Ever. Again,” Pidge said as a greeting, staring down at her computer with an intense glare. “Just so you know, I am plotting your imminent demise.”

 

“Hey Pidgeon, good morning to you too! So sorry for any trauma, but also, I could’ve been way, _way_ louder,” Lance said cheerily.

 

“Lance,” Shiro warned, but he looked amused as he wiped down a pistol barrel, flicking a knowing smirk towards Keith. “No need to be so smug. Keith, his neck is still healing, you should be more careful with your hickey placement.”

 

Lance raised a hand to the mark just below his ear, and he smiled even more widely. Keith cut him off before anything truly horrifying could be said. “Good morning everyone who _isn’t_ commenting on my sex life.”

 

“Hello,” Allura said from her seat next to Shiro. “A _very_ _good_ morning to you.”

 

Keith sighed while Lance exchanged a high-five with the princess.

 

Yathir waved at them both as they settled in at the bar, Allura and Shiro each sliding one stool over to allow them room.

 

“Good morning,” Yathir said with an indulgent smile. “Made your favourite pie for breakfast. I also may be baking a few more for you to take with you.”

 

Lance clapped his hands excitedly. “Yathir, you are a god. Please tell me you gave this recipe to Hunk.”

 

“Along with several crates of fruits, dough ingredients, and various sweeteners. Coran mentioned some seeds for the garden on your Castle — you will not go without,” Yathir promised.

 

Keith’s heart twisted up his chest. He’d avoided thinking too hard about leaving — it had been an abstract concept, a distant future … until it wasn’t.

 

This past week had been so _full._ They’d hardly had a moment to themselves, this morning being the exception. Lance and Keith had been focused entirely on keeping the peace and visiting with several bosses a day since the revolution against Dras. Keith had been explaining the Galra to the ones they trusted (or the ones they knew would be reasonable about protecting this planet, as implicit trust was a rarity). Setting up the particle barriers had been relatively easy after that, or so Coran had said.

 

Only a few people had asked about leaving the planet with Lance and Keith; to those people they’d given a very basic summation of the war happening beyond Jacomir’s system … As Lance had suspected back at the war meeting, no one wanted to leave with them after being informed that a relentlessly evil and powerful force loomed, waiting to devour them.

 

Throughout all of their work, Lance had talked about anything and everything but _this, their last day_. Now he seemed cheerful and accepting … Keith had no idea if that was how he actually felt. He didn’t think Lance was all that eager to leave when it came down to it.

 

_“I … think that I’m kinda messed up for thinking this, but I don’t know if I would change things. Stop us from crashing here.”_

 

Lance had spoken those words a few months ago … And Keith knew, down in the worst parts of his own mind, that he still agreed with them — that neither of them would take _any_ of it back. Even though Keith didn’t think he could ever completely appease the ruthlessness inside of himself. Even though Lance had become a wrathful, fallen angel these three weeks since the explosion. Maybe if Keith had the power to change anything, it would be to find some way of keeping Lance whole … But there wasn’t time to worry about that. That conversation kept getting pushed farther into the future, and Keith truly didn’t have the energy reserves to resume tormenting himself over it today.

 

“We’ll be heading out to Jorlack’s to make sure he’s got things under control,” Keith informed them. “And then we’ll all be heading back here for the transport of Dras to the ship.”

 

“Coran has said that Whiero is doing better, by the way,” Shiro said briskly, back to serious mode rather suddenly. “It seems the bosses took your warnings to heart. They’ve carved up their corners and are sticking to them. Things might devolve into wars between mafias, but no one’s going to try to become a despot in lieu of Dras. At least not for a long, long time.”

 

“I meant what I said about putting a bullet in their crotches if they tried.” Lance gave Shiro a wicked grin. “A few people lost some fingers in those meetings — but Keith was nice. No one lost a hand.”

 

“It was tempting,” Keith said, scowling in frustration. “You would think after Dras, they’d be happy to just chill for a few days.”

 

“We ask too much.” Lance took several large bites of his pie. “But frankly, I don’t care. If they keep it to Whiero, like the gang wars usually stay in Ithorla, it’s no problem for anyone else.”

 

“Except for the innocent caught in the crossfire within that city.” Allura frowned disapprovingly.

 

Keith was spared from commenting harshly on that when Yathir joined the conversation — it gave Keith the chance to rein in his worst instincts.

 

“Everyone will join up with some boss or another, not unlike Ithorla.” Yathir poured Lance and Keith tall glasses of juice. “While there might be more collateral damage without Dras there, there may also be more freedom to pick and choose who to work for. Many of the Whiero bosses suffered under her exacting standards. We’ll see what comes of it in the next month or so.”

 

Which neither Keith nor Lance would be here to see. He ate his pie silently, listening to Lance talk with Coran and Allura, but not really hearing the words. Once he was done eating, he gulped down his juice, wiping his mouth clean before he spoke to Lance. “We should head out.”

 

Lance had a hand on Coran’s shoulder, and he paused his conversation with the older man mid-sentence to look over his shoulder at Keith, blue eyes unreadable. “Right.” He turned back to Coran. “We’ll figure that stuff out on the Castle. Keith and I are pretty easy when it comes to sleeping arrangements.”

 

Keith had no idea what they were talking about; he waited until they were in the truck, and he was pulling out beyond the gates of Dagos to ask, “What do we need to figure out on the Castle?”

 

“Coran was suggesting we take one of the big staterooms when we get back,” Lance told him, drumming his fingers on his thighs as he gazed absently out the window.

 

Keith stared at the expanse of desert in front him, blinking an image of said rooms into his mind’s eye. They typically reserved the large rooms for diplomatic envoys or refugee families.

 

“Why?” Keith asked, bemused.

 

“We’d have a bigger bed to share, more space to combine all our stuff together,” Lance listed off, “and a great huge window to stare out of into space. Pretty cool, if you ask me.”

 

Keith hadn’t thought about his old room on the Castle in some time. Now, he tried to envision sleeping there, on his own or with Lance, and his brain faltered in the creation of that picture. He pushed the thoughts away. “Yeah, let’s worry about that when we get there.”

 

Lance hummed his agreement. After a few minutes of silence, he said, “Jorlack is fine, you know. We probably didn’t need to come out here.”

 

“I know.”

 

Keith took one hand off the truck steering wheel, sliding it over Lance’s thigh. Lance didn’t react other than to smile hazily and lean back for a short nap. They arrived in Hutton half an hour later, parking in their usual spot and strolling out onto the street. With Dras gone, the town had come alive again, and folks waved at them, calling out their names, cheering a little, whistling when Lance blew them a kiss.

 

“Of course we’d be leaving just as we’re getting the rock star treatment we so richly deserve,” Lance huffed, winking at Ikalee, who gave him a rude gesture in return, though she did also lick her lips and shoot Keith a smirk, as though asking for permission. Which Ikalee damn well knew she wasn’t going to get, but Keith made _sure_ to confirm this by flashing the blades sheathed at his waist. She rolled her eyes and continued on with her day.

 

They walked past the half-built warehouse where Jorlack’s saloon used to be, currently in the process of becoming storage for Jorlack’s other criminal enterprises. The new saloon, _The Dead Tyrant,_ was bigger and better-guarded than the original _Jorlack’s_ , but few people referred to it by the name painted above the door — most called it _Jorlack’s,_ and the boss wasn’t inclined to correct them.

 

Lance swung open that door with a bang, all but promenading in to accept yet more cheering and drinks lifted to their name. Lance headed straight to the bar, smiling broadly at Rynsu. “Take a good look, Ryn, this is the last you’ll see of me.”

 

She snorted, sliding him a tall glass filled to the brim — one of her hands was wrapped in a thick brace, her wrist broken, and she had several stitched up cuts along her shoulders and her neck. But she grinned at Keith, running her sharp claws over one of the worst gashes. “You two look a lot better than you did a few days back. I’m beginning to think you’re indestructible.”

 

“No, just extremely lucky,” Keith said, accepting a drink of his own. “Here, have your biggest tip yet.” Keith dropped several bright blue gems on the counter. These last few days, Lance had been joining him in sprinkling gems everywhere, and he giggled now when someone behind Keith let loose a surprised gasp at the money. “You deserve it for putting up with him for so long.” Keith jerked his head towards Lance, who held a hand to his chest, appearing affronted, though his eyes were shining.

 

“And what do I get for tolerating you two for nigh on a year?” Jorlack asked, striding from his backroom, Gunthra and Caspor on either side of him.

 

“Well, our thanks for not cutting us into little pieces when you first met us, and a _fuck you_ for that debt you put on our heads.” Keith tipped his drink at Jorlack. “So thank you and fuck you.”

 

Gunthra laughed boisterously. “Oh boys, I’m gonna miss you. Not enough pretty things around these parts, and certainly not as entertaining as you are.”

 

Lance had already drunk one glass of liquor and was tapping the counter for another. “Hey, you’re coming to see Dras, right? If Keith is cool with it, I’ll let you get one good grope in before we go.”

 

“Lance is not cool with this, and I’m not cool with it either,” Keith said instantly. “Ignore him, he’s just riding the high of impending escape.”

 

Lance nodded, chuckling a little when Gunthra pouted playfully at them both. “Sorry, he’s right, I’m just messing with you. Hutton seems to be pretty good now.”

 

Jorlack nodded, resting his hands on his gun belt. “It might interest you to know that Traxit has managed to take over the Red Dawn. He's holding a grand reopening next week.” He rolled back and forth on his feet. “Apparently Traxit’s keeping several kingpins in line, since he knows their books better they do. But more importantly, he wants to keep things level, and he’s willing to work with me to prevent this place from blowing up again.”

 

“Speaking of blowing up, I heard an interesting rumour from my buddies in Whiero,” Lance said, spinning on his barstool to face Jorlack directly, “that a few brothels in the Powder District met their end rather _explosively._ ”

 

“None of the employees were in them at the time, thanks to the fighting,” Jorlack said peaceably. “Mostly they were filled with Porthwin’s goons, and they were gearing up to take down Zan’s troop. You’re welcome.”

 

“You wouldn’t tell us what you were up to that day, and now I see it — you and Denna, working to take out her competition, eh?” Lance smirked. “Porthwin’s alive, you know.”

 

“And now he’s lost most of his thugs and half of his whores took off running for Denna’s during the chaos.” Jorlack cocked his head towards the Pleasure Lair. “Porthwin is under Liruo’s thumb now. That’s another piece of work altogether, but at least she’s reasonable enough to cut deals with.”

 

“He’s reporting to _her_?” Lance looked and sounded disgusted. “Those two deserve each other, but man, the poor souls who work for them are fucked. Pun not intended.”

 

“Ah, I’m going to miss the terrible jokes most of all,” Czanliu declared as he walked into the bar, Brisha right on his heels. “Denna’s got a message for The Two McClains.”

 

“Yeah? Is she still trying to hire me on, ‘cause I think we all know that ship has sailed. Or is gonna sail in a few hours.” Lance hopped off the stool to give Zan a hug, and then yanked Brisha in close, keeping her pressed to his side.

 

“Denna says, and I’m quoting her directly, ‘ _Get the fuck out of here, please and thank you._ ’ She may have also expressed a certain amount of praise for your ability to survive, but mostly she’s invested in not having any more explosions nearby and not having to replace any more expensive tables.”

 

Lance saluted. “Noted. You coming along to see Dras off?”

 

Zan’s grin conveyed both his affection for Lance and his malicious delight in Dras’ downfall. “Absolutely. Brisha promised not to try and shoot her again.”

 

Lance pressed a quick kiss to the top of Brisha’s head, which had her laughing and pushing him half-heartedly. “I know, we’ve had this discussion already. Brisha knows what’s up, she just had to unload a bit of rage on the hell spawn. She’s good now, right?”

 

“Well, better,” Brisha admitted honestly, smiling up at him with a noticeable shine to her silver eyes.

 

“We’re not all happy with this, McClain,” Telliya said from her seat in a far corner. The general chatter of the bar went silent as she stood up, walking over to them in a deliberate manner. When she reached them, all weapons were drawn, though not pointed at anyone in particular. Keith reclined back against the counter, watching her square up in front of Lance.

 

She stared him up and down. Her own cuts and bruises had largely healed up, and she had new, jagged scars across her forehead, but otherwise, the battle had left her intact — and Keith was glad, even if he was prepared to give her a whole new host of injuries if she tried anything … But then she stuck out her hand. “I’m not happy, but I’m satisfied. You’re getting rid of her for us. Not stupid enough to want Jacomir’s vengeance on my head. You gave me Fregola, and I heard what you did to Dras. It’s good enough for me. She’ll live with those scars, just like I need to live without Grisner.”

 

Lance grasped her hand, his mouth set in a grim line. “I’ll never forget, Telliya. Never.”

 

“Good. But I’m with Denna — get the fuck out so we can all try and move on with our lives.” She flashed him a vicious grin as she retreated back to her seat to a chorus of agreements that ranged from _Damn right!_ to _McClains, you’ve been pretty as fuck to look at, but we’re fucking tired of the explosions!_ Lance laughed brightly and toasted them all, shouting that the next round was on him — roars and ovations met his gesture.

 

Telliya shook her head as she relaxed into her chair again. “I don’t think this planet is big enough for the two of you.”

 

“You have no idea,” Jorlack said dryly. He knew about the Galra — he had the controls for the barrier that had been set up in Hutton. He, along with Denna, Brisha, and Zan, were the only ones in this town fully aware of the looming threat that faced the universe. Keith suspected Traxit was going to get the debrief on this — Whiero’s barrier control was currently in the hands of two of Wesdru’s trusted mercenaries, but someone with greater pull was going to need to be made aware, so if it were activated, said person could keep the population from panicking.

 

Traxit and perhaps Liruo, distasteful as that might be, were options for sure. But Keith didn’t have to think too hard about that — he trusted Jorlack to make a good choice.

 

Ollewa had Byothal under his power definitively. Brisha had reassured them that the Yunkai Nightborn were a gang that not only had a strong power base in Ithorla, but also much respect from the other gangs for their straightforward manner of doing business. And so Ithorla's barrier was in good hands, hopefully.

 

Yathir had sole possession of the small barrier for Dagos, but he also had a very strong transmitter in a hidden room on his roof; it would form the network of communications between the towns, and allow them the ability to contact the Castle if needed. So much work in so few days, and there was still so much left to do, but they couldn’t delay any longer — more problems would inevitably pop-up, more reasons to linger. This was as ideally tranquil as they could expect it to be.

 

“Let’s eat!” Lance announced, a too bright smile on his face. “Got to fill up on decent food before we leave. Rynsu, tell me you’ve got that stew cooking?”

 

“You’re the only one who loves this shit, McClain … But yeah, I got some in the wings,” she said with an eye roll — but Keith caught the smile playing about the edges of her mouth as she turned away to head into the kitchen. Servers were sent out, just a few minutes later, with several large bowls of steaming stew.

 

Brisha, Zan, Lance, and Keith all grouped together at a table right in the middle of everyone — others joined them every so often. Gunthra sat down right next to Lance at one point, leaning in close and pushing _all_ of Keith’s buttons. But Lance had her firmly in hand, and she respected his space once he whispered something into her ear that had her actually reeling back with a surprised guffaw, that loud burst of mirth rising above the clamour of the saloon.

 

Croliat appeared behind Brisha, coming around the table to extend a hand to Lance. “Thank you for … saving me. You could’ve murdered me after, would’ve been your right. And I wanted to tell you that, the thing you gave me …. I deleted it.” Croliat seemed bizarrely shy, humble and embarrassed. Keith had no idea what to do with this, and Lance looked fairly amazed as well. “After the battle, when we heard you and the Grand General … Didn’t feel right to keep that. So just wanted to tell you it’s gone. And thank you.”

 

Keith had told Lance repeatedly that he hadn’t minded the recording he’d made, as it had been just Lance alone, but he wouldn’t lie to himself — Keith was relieved to hear that Lance’s method of gaining Croliat as an ally and informant was now no longer in existence. Keith smiled up at the canine-like alien, who nodded and gave a tentative smile in return.

 

Lance stood up then, and he gave Croliat a hug — brief, next to no contact, but all the same, a _hug._ Croliat froze in Lance’s loose grip, taking a step back once Lance let him go, his fur standing on end along his neck and arms.

 

“Thanks for that,” Lance said, and he seemed completely sincere, his eyes catching Croliat’s and holding him in place. “Maybe pick up some work for Jorlack or Wesdru. They’ll treat you fairly. No more risking limb loss for lateness, though Wesdru might kick your ass if you make her look bad.”

 

Croliat barked out a laugh. He seemed to shed the self-consciousness enough to squeeze one of Lance’s upper arms and then bolt towards the bar. Keith exchanged grins with Lance as he sat back down.

 

Caspor made a brief stop to thank them, his eyes lingering on Lance, as always. Keith said nothing to him, just nodded, his own eyes narrowed. Lance actually deigned to shake his hand, and then slouched back in an overly seductive pose, gesturing down his body. “Take a good look, Po. That’s about as generous as I’ll be considering you actually put up a decent fight when we needed you.”

 

Caspor drank in the sight and then actually _bowed_ to Lance _,_ who chuckled at him, an eyebrow raised in sardonic amusement. Keith cleared his throat loudly when one of Caspor’s hands twitched ever so slightly towards Lance. The slimy toad scowled at Keith, but he retreated without any words exchanged, straight out of the bar — probably heading to his vehicle so he could also drive over to Dagos.

 

“If you’re done, we should head out now,” Keith said to Lance, handing his empty bowl to a server with a smile and a few gems placed into his palms — the waiter thanked him profusely, starry-eyed worship in this gaze, which had Keith ducking his head, distinctly uncomfortable with that kind of adoration. “We’ve still got a little packing to do.”

 

“Yeah, good point,” Lance said, and he stood up, his arms high above his head in a stretch, which morphed into two-handed waving. “So long, farewell, _adiós, pendejos._ Well, _amigos y pendejos. Amigos_  who were sometimes _pendejos_ …”

 

His words were cut off by hoots, shouted insults, and a steady pounding of applause and cups slammed down onto the tables and bar. Dorgrun sidled over to Keith, sneaking a blade into Keith's coat pocket — his curved dagger. Keith stared at him, questioning without speaking.

 

“It’s an honour,” Dorgrun’s rusty voice explained. “My country used to give ‘em to people who survived the worst the war had to offer, whether or not they’d won the battle. I’ve got three of them. Keep this one.”

 

Keith stared, and then stepped back to give the older man a bow because it seemed the thing to do. Dorgrun’s incredulous laughter was fractured, raspy, and it made Keith smile again. He accepted a clap on the back and watched as Dorgrun walked away without a backwards glance.

 

After that, Keith tried to follow Lance out of the bar — it took forever, as they were crowded by those brave enough to seek handshakes, to cuss them out jovially and thank them for the help. To tell them _you kept us alive, but don’t come back._ Jorlack left Rynsu with a few instructions and then all but shoved them out the door, so he could make his own way to Dagos.

 

Lance led the way to the truck, Brisha, Zan, and Keith chatting as they went. When they reached it, he paused, turning to Brisha. “Hey, I know you like using the ikuril to get around, but this truck’s got a good engine, and it’s pretty sturdy. Check out those bullet holes — not much can get through this hull.” He tossed the keys her way. “This is yours now.”

 

Brisha caught the keys — her eyes blinked rapidly to keep obvious tears at bay, and a grin slowly stretching from ear to ear. “Lance, you better be sure, because I will not be giving this truck back.”

 

“Brisha, _querida,_ it is all yours.” Lance opened the front door with a flourish, bending low at the waist.

 

She laughed, smacking him lightly across the back of the head, sending his cowboy hat flying. Keith snagged it before the hat could hit the ground, dropping it back onto Lance’s dishevelled hair. “You want shotgun?”

 

“Nah, you take it. Me and Zan will sit in the back.” Lance hopped into the truck bed, pulling Czanliu by the wrist.

 

Keith climbed into the passenger side, and the instant the door slammed shut, Brisha gunned it. Keith coughed out a loud, _“Whoa!”_ as she took to the desert with a giddy hoot.

 

“This engine makes the _best_ sounds,” she said delightedly, smiling with her tongue caught between her teeth for a moment. “Gonna put her through her paces, but I’ll treat her right.”

 

“I know you will,” Keith replied with an answering smile. “And you’ll help Jorlack keep people safe if … if the Galra show up. Or if Jacomir tries to pull anything.”

 

“Hunk explained the communications system to me pretty well, and I’ve got a few schematics on my computer in case repairs are needed.” She slowed down as they reached the hills, her eyes flicking back and forth between the dirt road and the hilltops — the kind of habitual paranoia Keith had engrained in him while living here. “It was so cool watching them build that and the barriers. And using only materials and scraps from here! Your team has some engineering geniuses. What happened to you and Lance?”

 

“Hey!” Lance banged on the partially open back window. “I can hear you!”

 

“So answer my question then!” Brisha shouted back.

 

“Keith’s the star pilot and close-combat expert. I’m the sharpshooter. And the funny one.”

 

“And the modest one,” Keith added wryly. “He tells us all the time how marvellously modest he is.”

 

“ _I am!”_ Lance insisted over Zan’s mirth.

 

“I would’ve said you were the handsome one — no offense, Keith, you're quite pretty, just not my type,” Zan added. Keith shrugged — he’d never cared one way or the other. “But then I saw Shiro. And Allura.”

 

“If I cared about that sort of thing, I would say Hunk is by far the most handsome — sorry, Lance,” Brisha called out.

 

“You ain’t wrong!” Lance agreed happily.

 

Keith still had a slight sore spot when it came to Hunk, and he didn’t think that Lance had forgiven him completely either. However, that was another issue to deal with later, he told himself, staring out into the desert, at the _yuk’lithqu_ cacti, and the huge rock formations that served as cover for drops, or perfect perches for snipers … or simply nice places to climb and watch the sunset.

 

“I thought my lungs stopped working when Shiro just …” Zan continued to complain to Lance. “You are _never_ being pardoned for that.”

 

“Why? I didn’t make them that hot, that was all genetics,” Lance protested. “But damn, _your face._ Have you tried talking to Shiro or Allura? You know, without stuttering all over and embarrassing yourself?”

 

“ _Yes,_ actually. They’re both very nice and hospitable. Allura even came by to Denna’s to make sure I was being treated well. She’s really a princess?”

 

“Yep.” Lance popped the ‘p’ and snickered when Zan sighed dreamily. “You are crushing so damn hard, dude.”

 

“On two noble, gorgeous aliens who are _leaving._ I don’t suppose you could go, and they could stay?”

 

“No-can-do, buddy — defending the universe requires all of us.” Lance’s voice was no longer teasing. A serious note weighed each word, and he said nothing for a long while.

 

“It’s … It seems pretty impossible, your mission,” Brisha said haltingly. “But I’m glad it’s you and Lance. And the others. Impossible doesn’t seem to mean anything to you at all.”

 

 _Impossible_ haunted Keith’s nightmares, actually — certain obstacles couldn’t be climbed or surpassed. He doubted his ability to reach Lance in his darker moments, his own judgement when it came to taking charge on missions, his desire to be a paladin … _No, stop, not now._ “We don’t have a choice. It’s pretty much do or die.”

 

“Explains why you did so well here.” Brisha reached over to put one hand on his shoulder. “But I think it’s time that you went home. You’re better than this place. Way more important than any of us.”

 

“Not true,” Keith countered. “Without you, or Yathir, or Zan — without Wesdru, and hell, even Jorlack, we wouldn’t have lasted. So if we do manage to save the universe …” Keith ducked his head, searching for the right words. “It’s always been people like you who make the biggest difference.”

 

Brisha drew in a shaky breath, unable to meet his eyes as she drove on steadily to Dagos. Czanliu and Lance had fallen silent as well, and the last half of the journey passed in a mournful quiet.

 

By the time they pulled up to the inn, most of the other bosses had arrived. Jorlack hadn’t bothered to bring any guards, nor had Gunthra — Caspor had a couple of big dudes with him, as did Liruo. Ollewa came with about a half dozen people, and he appeared to have the largest group. Lance and Keith hopped out of the truck, walking past everyone with only a few waves or nods to those they hadn’t seen at Jorlack’s.

 

The rest of their team waited inside, including Hunk, Coran, and Matt, back from Whiero. They were behind the bar, checking on Yathir’s screens, now also connected to the communication system. The Castle was going to act as a boost to the network, allowing Yathir and the assembly gathered here at the inn to see actual video of when they delivered Dras to Jacomir — so everyone could be sure that she was gone for good.

 

“Ah, you’ve returned,” Coran said sunnily. “Good! We’ll get Pidge down here — she’s up on the roof making a few small adjustments to the comm tower.”

 

“Lance, Keith, we’re about ready to go,” Shiro called out from a seat by the back window. He had an empty plate in front of him, Allura seated to his right, still eating her lunch. Next to her were a bunch of recently cleaned weapons — Keith recognized them as the guns and knives the others had come down with or taken from Lance and Keith’s stock. Shiro waved a hand over them. “We’re keeping a few for our way out. Is it okay if I leave the rest in your armoury?”

 

“Yathir’s armoury now,” Lance corrected. He took his hat off, spinning it around in his hands. “Yeah, go ahead. Keith and I just gotta pack up some things, and then we’ll head on down to get Dras.”

 

Keith watched Zan and Brisha take a seat with Allura and Shiro, striking up an easy conversation. He smiled at that, though it faded swiftly as he walked up the stairs with Lance.

 

They reached their room. It felt so empty, despite looking largely the same.

 

They really hadn’t acquired much while they were here, aside from clothes and weapons, and most of it was staying behind. Their favourite weapons were being carried out on them today — Lance's favoured pistols in their holsters, Keith's most used blades in their sheaths. The night before, Lance had packed the rifle he’d liberated from Bruil back near the beginning. A few shirts and pants, and a certain pair of heeled boots were also squared away. Keith had added a few of his most comfortable clothing items. Now he tossed in the curved dagger Dorgrun had given him, and the extra knife belts and sheaths he had grown used to wearing at all times. Nestled amongst these belongings was a blue bottle of wine.

 

Lance double-checked their bag one more time before cinching it shut. He put it on the floor by the door, tossing his hat down on top.

 

Keith took the initiative to shove the bed aside, exposing the floorboards beneath it. He kneeled down, hooking two fingers inside a small gap just big enough for them, and lifted. The wooden plank came loose, enabling him to shift two more out of the way. Lance sat down next to Keith, grabbing the exposed tarp and shoving it to the side.

 

They each reached for two bags — the leather satchels that contained their armour and bayards. They’d only really used these twice after coming to live with Yathir; their bayards once, during their heist against Dreyulin, as they were still fairly green without their paladin weapons (and they ended up not needing them at all, as grenades turned out to be the best choice for _that_ situation). The second time had been for their heist in Dras’ tower, using the underarmour as stealth gear, form fitting and unlikely to get caught on anything.

 

As they hadn’t touched them since, Keith knew everything was present and accounted for. He stood up and dropped his bag next to the other one by the door, accepting Lance’s as it was passed to him. Lance replaced the floorboards, and then dragged the bed back to its original position.

 

He sat down on it, his hands running over the covers, eyes gazing about the room. “I … I don’t know what … Keith, help me out here.”

 

Keith shuffled over, taking a seat next to Lance. “I don’t know either. But we always knew we’d be leaving, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Lance said without hesitation. “But I started … I _stopped_ imagining this scenario a long time ago. Started picturing you and me, and our ship. Getting out to the stars, to Jacomir, kicking things off all over again there. Getting a bigger, better ship and hitting outer space, looking for home …”

 

“Maybe keeping our mercenaries-for-hire thing going, funding ourselves with jobs until we found them,” Keith continued on, leaning back on his hands, staring up at the ceiling. His gaze locked onto a knot of wood that he used to stare at on nights when sleep eluded him. Or when a nightmare jerked him out of rest. “But they found us. And we have to go with them.”

 

“Yeah,” Lance breathed out again. “Yeah. So let’s do that. Let’s do the thing we’ve been working towards this entire year. Fuck, what the hell is wrong with me?”

 

Keith went back and forth on whether he should make the obvious joke, or treat this more seriously, but Lance didn’t let him speak, shaking his head as he rose to his feet. “Don’t say anything, dude. I know. C’mon, someone will come looking any minute now.”

 

Lance picked up his hat, shoving it back onto his head; he hauled both his bag of armour and the bag with their other stuff onto his back. Keith picked up his armour bag, and they both exited the room together, turning in unison to stare one last time. Keith reached out and shut the door with finality.

 

A wet exhale escaped Lance, and Keith swallowed an unexpected lump in his throat as they took their time walking down the hall and stairs.

 

“Oh good!” Allura beamed up at them from the bottom of the steps, her hands held out. “Let me take those to the ship while you collect Dras. I’ll be right on the main street, waiting.”

 

She took the bags off of them, carrying all three with ease, and walking out past the mass of people waiting to see Dras dragged onto said ship. Brisha and Zan were by the door, Brisha pointing at Allura’s back. “We’ll stay in the crowd, be your eyes and ears in case anyone gets any last second stupid ideas.” They followed Allura out to the impatient herd of crooks and bosses.

 

Lance gestured at Shiro and the others, head tilting towards the back door. “Well, you heard the princess. Let’s go get our prize out of the box.”

 

Keith led the way to the cellar, one blade already in his hand. The two guards posted outside the door nodded to him as he approached and then stepped aside. He waited until everyone was pressed in close to his back before opening the doors and heading down into dim, dank room.

 

Dras lay on a cot, her two wrists tied together and chained to the post Fregola had been held against not so long ago. She closed her eyes against the harsh daylight permeating into her cave-like dwelling. Keith stood less than a metre away, evaluating her appearance. She’d been cleaned up a couple of times, for the sake of sanitation. Fed relatively well by Yathir and visited by the doctor twice. The first time had involved the life-saving treatment that allowed Dras to survive long enough to be treated at a second point a couple of days later, ensuring she wouldn’t die from any infection. Her side had become a mass of scar tissue, and as she sat up, Keith could see it restricted her movements heavily.

 

“Ready to go home?” Lance asked in a neutral tone. “Don’t answer, don’t care. Wesdru?”

 

“ ‘Bout time you got here,” the mercenary captain growled, emerging from the darkness behind Dras. “Been bored out of my skull. All she does is sleep.”

 

“Yeah, well, a little healing coma meant you didn’t have much to worry about.” Lance rocked back on his heels. “Get her out. We’ve got you covered.”

 

Wesdru grunted her assent, unchaining Dras and yanking her to her feet. Dras didn’t recoil at the harshness, only blinked some more at them, her mouth set in a permanent frown.

 

Keith looked back to the others. “Everybody ready? We’re going to head around to the front. Shiro, Coran, Matt — keep an eye on everyone, we can’t let her die. Pidge, Hunk — you stay completely on Dras, we can’t let _her_ try anything either.”

 

“When this is over, I’m heading over to Jorlack’s and buying out his bar stock,” Wesdru grumbled as they ascended back outside. “How pathetic is the last job you hired me for? Babysitting a corpse, that’s what this was. Fucking should’ve put a bullet in her like you said we would at the start.” Wesdru had been furious about their deception at first, but she’d calmed rather quickly when they’d laid out the facts behind their decision. She still complained ferociously, but Keith would’ve been suspicious if she’d been completely okay with it all.

 

“With us gone, you and your crew will have plenty more exciting jobs to choose from,” Lance said. The others paused at the top of the stairs, checking weapons as they waited for everyone to be on the same level. Lance elbowed Wesdru as she muscled past him, the chain to Dras’ wrists tied and locked around her waist. Lance double-checked it twice before shooting Wesdru a wink. “Of course, you’ll have to deal with constantly being compared to the vastly superior Two McClains.”

 

Wesdru grabbed his wrist and tucked him beneath her much bigger, well-muscled arm, removing his hat and tossing it at Keith so she could mess up his hair. Lance would’ve cried and complained, tried to tackle Wesdru to the floor for that only a few weeks ago. Now he just took it with a wry smile and fond jab at her side. He straightened up, taking his hat back from Keith, and using it to point towards the front of the inn. “On we go, folks.”

 

Keith accepted a solid smack on the back from Wesdru as they moved as one large mass — Dras right in the centre, limping listlessly.

 

When they came around the corner, visible to the multitude of bosses and their gangs, Shiro, Coran, and Matt all stepped slightly to the side so Dras could be clearly seen. They all had weapons out and at the ready.

 

Widening eyes and shouts greeted Dras, as did a storm of cursing and violent threats. But no one did anything other than voice their hatred, their sincerest wishes for her to drop dead at the soonest opportunity. Allura waited by the ship, a gun in one hand, the whip she’d taken off of Liruo in the other. Yathir stood next to her, two of his arms crossed, the others resting easy at his sides.

 

Jorlack stared at Dras as she walked past him, but he didn’t say a word until Lance and Keith were nearby. “She doesn’t look like much now. Don’t know if we’re better off or not thanks to you two. But I think I’ll be breathing easier knowing she’s gone.”

 

“Sorry we couldn’t kill her.” Lance’s contrite expression had a hardness to it; Keith’s jaw clenched to see it. “But it would’ve caused more trouble in the end.”

 

Jorlack raised a hand, putting it on Keith’s shoulder as he spoke to both of them. “Trouble is what you two are. Walking, talking, shooting trouble, though you used it to do right by us. But Telliya’s right. You need to get gone.”

 

“That was always the plan,” Keith told him, shaking Jorlack’s hand once he dropped it from his shoulder. Lance did the same, quick and easy, before moving on.

 

The tide shifted from launching malevolent words at Dras, to shouting good-byes for Lance and Keith. There was definitely some hate, a few brutal threats for them to never return, but Keith ignored it all and fixated instead on Brisha and Zan, emerging from the seething gathering. They joined the group in marching Dras up to and into the ship. Once she was restrained, both hands and feet unable to move, there was nothing left to do.

 

Except say good-bye.

 

Brisha had tears on her face, and she yanked Keith into a tight hug, just as Zan did the same to Lance. The disgruntled noises of the crowd faded — whether they were quieting down or Keith had just tuned them out, he couldn’t tell.

 

“Please keep taking care of each other,” Brisha whispered thickly into his ear. “I know you can survive just about anything together. Please.”

 

“Always,” Keith muttered back. “And you and Zan do the same. Watch each other’s backs. You stick with Jorlack, and Zan should stay close to Denna. You’ll be great.”

 

Brisha leaned away, giving a startled giggle as Lance separated from Zan and suddenly pulled his prized cowboy hat off, jamming it firmly onto Zan’s dark purple locks.

 

“Excellent!” Lance proclaimed, his eyes too bright. “You’re rocking the look, dude. Ah, you can even use this at work, I don’t mind! Except there’s a line you _must_ say, and it goes ‘ _save a horse, ride a cowboy._ ’ ”

 

 _“Lance!”_ Keith reprimanded sternly, trying and failing to keep the fond amusement off his face.

 

Keith sighed heavily as Lance and Zan both laughed heartily, Zan wiping tears from beneath his eyes as he wheezed out, “Fuck, your jokes are the worst. I’m going to miss that horribleness.”

 

Lance stuck out his tongue and then swept Brisha up into a spinning embrace, just as Keith sidestepped them and put a hand out towards Czanliu. Zan grabbed it and heaved him into a hug, patting him on the back several times. “You two are something else. Never seen your like here, and probably won’t again.”

 

“Unless the Galra show up — then we’ll be back as fast as we can,” Keith promised in a near-whisper. He dropped his voice even lower. “Make sure you give us updates. It takes take a while for the messages to get through …”

 

“I know, Keith, I paid attention to all the explanations,” Zan said very quietly.

 

Keith squeezed Zan’s hand once more before letting it go.

 

“You and Brisha can message us sometimes, even if nothing is happening. It would be … nice,” Keith murmured with a small smile.

 

Zan grinned back. “You got it.”

 

Brisha tugged her brother away. While they’d been saying good-bye to the two siblings, the others had boarded the ship.

 

Which left just Yathir waiting by the entrance. Lance and Keith walked over to him, and before either of them could say anything, Yathir reached out with his strong arms, all six of them, and pulled them into an all-encompassing embrace. Lance broke then, Keith could hear the soft crying, and he squeezed his own eyes shut, though not before a few tears slipped down his face.

 

“You boys …” Yathir stopped. Tried again. He murmured steadily after a deep breath. “I’ll be sending messages to keep you in the loop on the goings-on. But don’t you ever come back. Not unless it’s part of your grand war. This place doesn’t deserve anymore saving from you two. You’ve shed enough blood here.”

 

“Didn’t do it out of the kindness of our hearts,” Keith said hoarsely. “And we still owe you. Left all the gems in the safe, know it’s not enough —”

 

“And the ship we bought, that’s yours too.” Lance’s breath kept hitching. “Keep it or sell it, doesn’t matter to us. Just make sure to keep track of all the assholes who hate you, now that your secret identity is out. Blow them up real good if they try and mess with you. Drop our names. Know we’re not as scary as you, but we’ve definitely got a rep —”

 

Yathir was chuckling. Lance jumped up to wrap his arms around the elderly alien’s neck. Keith just burrowed into his side — he smelled of all the pies he’d been baking, now loaded onto the ship behind them.

 

Lance slid down to the ground after a long pair of minutes. Keith leaned his head back to look up at Yathir — he wasn’t crying, but he looked … far older than he ever had before. He smiled gently at both of them, untangling his arms and then giving them shoulder squeezes. He guided them onto the ship, Lance and Keith unable to stop glancing back. Keith’s gaze flicked over to the crowd once more, to Brisha and Zan. They waved, smiles broken but happy for them.

 

And then he looked down at Yathir for the last time. Yathir waved once, with a single hand, and took a large step back. The entire crowd waved at them, cheering and shouting, but Yathir simply stood there with a smile, giving them one last nod. Keith grasped Lance’s hand impossibly tight as the ship closed up, sealing them away.

 

“Everyone hold on,” Allura announced. “We’re taking off.”

 

Keith drew in a long breath, turning to Lance, who had yet to take his eyes off the now closed door. After a few moments, Lance finally shut his eyes, a couple of tears spilling forth, and then opened them to face Keith. Neither of them had anything to say.

 

It was a rather anti-climatic departure, as they had to stop by the desert so Pidge could leave the ship and reclaim the Green Lion. Hunk chose to join her, and they both cast Keith and Lance worried glances as they walked up Green’s ramp.

 

Dras couldn’t see Green from where she was, but she asked no questions about their stop, only stared about blankly, that unyielding frown deepening on her freshly scarred face.

 

Allura didn’t take off right away, shifting in her seat to look at Lance and Keith. “Are you two sure about joining us on Jacomir? You can go with Hunk and Pidge to the Castle —”

 

“Need to see this through to the end,” Lance said, sounding very much like he had shortly after Dras had nearly strangled the life out of him.

 

“Let’s finish it, Allura.” Keith couldn’t let go Lance’s hand. “Please.”

 

Allura’s mouth set in a line. “All right. This will be quick. Matt, could you set up the broadcast?”

 

“On it,” Matt said, taking Pidge’s place in the co-pilot chair.

 

Coran moved in closer as well, though he made sure to keep Dras in his eye-line as he stood right behind them, a quiet, steady presence. Lance leaned back a little, just slightly enough to brush shoulders with the older Altean. Keith concentrated on keeping his breaths deliberately even. He had no idea what was going on inside his own head, or Lance’s — everything felt detached, strange. The only anchor was Lance’s hand in his own.

 

Their prearranged journey to Jacomir took only a handful of minutes, and too soon they were landing on a platform filled with at least three dozen soldiers, all of them with laser rifles pointed directly at their ship. Keith snapped back to reality hard enough to make himself flinch, his hands unsheathing his blades before he even realized he’d grasped them.

 

Clean, white, a floral scent on the air … He couldn’t see much, but what Keith could take in of Jacomir was lovely. It angered him more than he could ever express.

 

Allura had stood up and walked past them, as Shiro and Coran worked at unhooking Dras from her restraints. Matt pressed a few buttons, and a small Rover unit flew out, recording the encounter, beaming it down to Yathir’s inn for all those present there to watch.

 

Grand General Liolan stood at the head of her troops, prouder than ever, though she seemed greatly perturbed, if only for a moment, to see Dras’ condition as she was hauled out of the ship.

 

Liolan stared hard at Lance and Keith, and whatever she saw had her glancing away, straightening her shoulders before she stated, “You’ve kept your word. We shall keep ours. 2657-AbbDn serves its purpose well, and shall continue to do so, undisturbed by us.”

 

“Or any other world involved in your arrangement,” Allura confirmed coldly. “We will know if this is not the case, and we will return ready to confront you.”

 

“Acknowledged and accepted,” Liolan said tonelessly, though a muscle jumped in her cheek as she spoke. “That being said, please note that we’ve entered your two companions into our criminal registry. They would not be able to seek employment or any basic living situation here or on our allied planets.”

 

That was so _random_ that Keith let out a bark of laughter, at the same time that Lance startled and said disbelievingly, “Are you _fucking with us right now_?”

 

Allura held up a hand for silence. “That is rather petty of you. As they’ve been neither charged, tried, nor convicted of any crimes, on what basis do you deem them _criminals_?”

 

“Based on the information Keegin Dras passed on to us nearly three weeks ago.” Liolan lifted a hand, and three soldiers came forward, moving in unison as they took Dras' chains from Shiro and Coran, the former looking enraged, though he held himself back admirably, and the latter having gone colder than ever. Liolan made eye contact only with Allura as she explained, “They, like many of the inhabitants of 2657-AbbDn, have committed a veritable novel’s worth of crimes and depravities.”

 

“You realize there is _literally_ no other form of living on that planet, right?” Keith said bluntly, a degree of incredulity in his tone.

 

“Seriously, like, no _other way to make money to buy food or housing or whatever —_ _everyone,_ the food collectors, the bankers, the shopkeepers, _everyone_ has to lie, steal, and kill to survive,” Lance tacked on, his anger causing his cheeks to flush, his hands to twitch down to his pistol belt. “And you’ve _made it that way._ ”

 

“We chose this system for those who were irredeemable, and they’ve proven us correct by creating such a society — we put no constraints on them, and such is the way of life they and their progeny have created,” Liolan said flatly. “And now you number amongst them. Our transaction is complete. Please leave peacefully.”

 

Shiro stepped in before Allura could explode — Keith could tell how on edge she was by the ramrod line of her back, the way she widened her stance as if she were going to swing out a punch. She still had the whip on her. Keith would’ve paid many gems to see her slice through Liolan’s stiff expression with a lash that had been used on the downtrodden because of the world Jacomir had established.

 

“You’re right, we are done.” Shiro stared at Liolan directly in the eyes, unflinching when several rifles focused solely on him. “You’re wrong about Lance and Keith. About the people you left to rot on that world. And you should be glad that you are wrong. Otherwise we would be having a very _different_ conversation. The kind they have down on 2657-AbbDn. Dras could translate for you — take a good look at her while she’s in medical to get a rough idea.” His hand glowed menacingly, and the rifles were cocked.

 

Coran put his arms around both Shiro and Allura, smoothly steering them towards the ship. “We’ll be back eventually. Perhaps you’ll have evolved further by then. I rather hope you won’t,” Coran said in his typical jolly tone, but his face conveyed a different series of emotions, all of them dangerous. “I would very much like an excuse to make _heuri_ paste out of you lot. Cheers!”

 

The four of them entered the ship, Matt swiftly shutting the door behind them and beginning take off procedures. Allura marched into the pilot seat, flinging herself into the chair, a stream of Altean curses filling their ears as she launched up into space rather violently.

 

“But Allura, tell us what you _really_ think,” Matt teased, attempting to lighten the mood.

 

Allura growled out a few more words, and then heaved a great sigh. “And that’s over with now. I was _this close_ to just … Arrgh, what horrendous beings.”

 

“Pretty sure my sister left the equivalent of a proton bomb in their military’s covert network.” Matt flashed Allura a broad grin. “Trust me, they’re going to get at least a little of what they're owed.”

 

“Well done, Pidge,” Shiro gritted out savagely. Keith wasn’t surprised by this display of rage from the older man, though he did raise an eyebrow his way. Shiro just shook his head. “Keith, there are times when I can’t see the potential for goodness. They are few and far between, but this has definitely been one of them. For all the terrible people we dealt with on that prison world … At least they were honest about who they were. And you have people like Brisha and Czanliu … I hope whatever Pidge has in store is the kind of devastating that isn’t easily recovered from.”

 

“Knowing Pidge, they’re probably screwed for several decades,” Lance said, his anger mostly gone in favour of giddy malevolence. “Ah, man, I wish we could see their faces when she goes loose on them.”

 

Allura cleared her throat, and for whatever reason, her eyes were shining with fresh tears, seemingly out of nowhere. “We can ask Pidge all about it … Lance, Keith … Welcome home.”

 

Keith stared in shock as Allura steered the ship into the Castle — he hadn’t even registered seeing it as they approached. Lance gasped, their sweaty hands still attached; he squeezed Keith’s fingers hard enough to cause pain.

 

Once the ship docked, Keith could see Pidge, Hunk, and the man who must be Sam Holt waiting for them in the hanger. Allura opened the ship door, and a blast of cool, recycled air hit Keith’s face. The smell was instantly familiar, washing a wave of memories to the forefront of his mind.

 

“Guys, you’re home!” Hunk cried out, and he had tears streaking his face, his smile so bright it hurt to see. “I … I almost can’t handle this. I’m sorry, you guys must be …”

 

“Take your time,” Shiro said from behind Lance and Keith.

 

“Yes, no hurry,” Coran agreed, stepping out ahead of them. Allura and Matt were already walking out after Coran, and then forming ranks next to Hunk and Pidge.

 

Shiro waited patiently. Keith knew he had to step off the ship, but somehow it was Lance who ended up lifting his foot first. A few short steps and they touched the floor of the Castle hanger at the same time.

 

Sam Holt smiled at them, rather tentatively, a kind sympathy colouring his words. “While I’ve never met you, I feel the need to say welcome back as well. I’m Sam, Pidge and Matt’s father.” He held out at his hand — scarred, calloused.

 

That wasn’t sympathy in his eyes, in his voice — it was _empathy._ Keith finally let go of Lance’s hand, accepting Sam’s handshake. “Thank you, sir.”

 

“ _Sam,_ ” he insisted, offering his hand to Lance next. “No Garrison ranks out here, and that’s how I like it.”

 

“Sure thing, Sam,” Lance said, then shuddered. “Wow, that felt really weird. Somewhere back on Earth, my mom has the sudden urge to smack one of her kids for disrespect.”

 

That got a chuckle out of Hunk and the Holt family, and Keith half-smiled when Lance grinned at everyone.

 

“Oh, you guys need to go see Red and Blue!” Hunk seemed so excited, even through his tears. “Man, that’ll be am—”

 

Keith felt his head shaking instantly, and Lance had stiffened alongside him, his smile disappearing. Thankfully, Allura jumped in, laughing joyously at the enthusiasm, “Well, let’s not do it all at once!”

 

“Hunk, I think what Lance and Keith need is to head to their room,” Shiro added, a less effusive, but still sincere happiness on his face. He had taken their bags from the ship, and handed their things over now. “Coran mentioned new living quarters for you two?”

 

“Yes, let me show you!” Coran leapt out in front of them. “Did you want to stop by your old rooms first, or …”

 

“No, no, let’s go straight to our new digs,” Lance said rapidly, clearly relieved by the change in conversation. “Gonna change into something more comfy. Probably crash for the night. Day? Um, what time is it here?”

 

“The Castle was set to the time on 2657-AbbDn,” Coran informed them as they all headed out en masse into the hallway. “And so it’s later in the afternoon at the moment. We’ll likely have dinner in a couple of vargas.”

 

Keith was only half-listening, caught up in relearning everything about his … home. The spotless walls, the high ceilings, the shining floors. The mice scurried out in front of them, squeaking away, and it seemed _magical_ and _surreal._ Keith couldn’t comprehend that _this_ was his reality now.

 

Coran paused in his swift stroll, looking around Lance and Keith to the others. “I’ll take them from here, everyone. How about you get us a feast started, Hunk? Yathir gave us so many precious ingredients!” Hunk made a noise of sheer delight, nodding his assent and taking off. “And the rest of you, I’m sure you can busy yourselves until we eat — Lance, Keith, you’re obviously going to take a nap, eh?”

 

Keith’s appreciation for Coran knew no bounds. “Right. Might not be in the mood to eat much either. Or at least not until later?”

 

Coran nodded easily, his hands waving off Keith’s uncertainty. “Whatever works for you, lads. Now, off we get.”

 

Shiro put a hand on Keith’s shoulder before departing. Allura, Pidge, Matt, and Sam all said a few more variations on _welcome home_ as they also turned and walked away. Once they were all gone, Lance and Keith exhaled in tandem, casting grateful glances at Coran.

 

“You’re a bit freaky, Coran, I won’t lie,” Lance said as they resumed their walk. “But it’s awesome.”

 

“You’ve had crowds of people around you all day, a frightfully busy week before that, and I don’t need to speak of what lead into it all.” Coran’s voice took on a more serene tenor. “You’ll need a bit of time to recharge those batteries. And here’s where you’ll be doing that from now on.”

 

They turned a corner, stopping before a door that Coran palmed open with a press to the console next to it. “Now, if you don’t like it, we can always pick another.”

 

The door slid open and revealed a room that was definitely bigger than their single rooms, but nowhere near as grand as Allura’s or some of the other diplomatic guest quarters. Lance walked in first, putting his bag down on a bench at the foot of their queen-sized bed. The colours were all muted greens, blues, thought there was a burst of golden orange from a few random pieces of artwork on the walls, and the pillows on the long window seat — the window that took up nearly all of the wall on Keith’s left, showcasing the black expanse of space, dotted with pinpricks of stars.

 

Right now, the world they’d called home for a year took up most of the view. Keith saw that it was, in fact, mostly desert, though he was shocked to see that there was also a massive ocean a great distance from the mountains and cities. He wondered if anyone had ever tried to survive a trip through the desert and discovered said ocean. 

 

Lance strode past the window without looking, to a door that led into an en suite bathroom. A happy sound burst from him as he stepped in just far enough to look around. “Oh man, that bathtub is gonna be my home base, dude. Wow. Coran, this is amazing. Thank you.”

 

Keith put the two bags he was carrying down next to Lance’s, spinning around to thank Coran himself. “Thanks, Coran. You didn’t have to work on this room a lot, did you? Because we could’ve just —”

 

“We just had to clear the dust off, Keith, don’t worry. Allura and I went back and forth on which room might be best, but it wasn’t until after we met on 2657-AbbDn that she and I agreed on this particular one. It feels … cozier than the others.”

 

“Yes, and it’s perfect,” Lance said happily, coming over to hug Coran.

 

Coran hugged him back, giving Keith a joyful grin coupled with a roguish wink over Lance’s head. “The two of you take all the time you need to rest and get … comfortable. If you don’t wish to dine with us tonight, just let us know and someone will bring you leftovers.”

 

“Thanks,” Lance repeated, pulling away to run a hand over his hair. “Wow, I’m … kinda at a loss here.”

 

“Say no more,” Coran said, making a _stop_ gesture. “I’ll leave you two be.”

 

He left in short order, the door sliding shut behind him.

 

Lance stood there, unmoving, and so Keith walked over to the window, taking a seat on the cushions, letting out a huge sigh. “So … now what?”

 

“I have no fucking clue,” Lance answered, and his shoulders sagged as he spoke. “I’m thinking … a shower. Or bath. And then …”

 

“Should we have gone to see Red and Blue?” Keith asked, the words bursting out of him unexpectedly — he winced at the abrupt headache. He blanked his mind and the pain ebbed.

 

“No,” Lance replied just as suddenly, and he flinched at his own instant response. He took a slow, stumbling walk towards Keith, collapsing next to him on the window seat. His hands came up to his face, scrubbing hard. “There’s … a lot to think about. Stuff I haven’t thought about it in a long time.”

 

“We don’t need to do that right this second.” Keith might be justifying his own cowardice, his own avoidance of things that _hurt_ to contemplate even for a second. “Let’s just be back.”

 

“How?” Lance croaked, and when his hands fell away, those blue eyes were bloodshot, dry and weary.

 

Keith slid in closer, placing one hand on Lance’s thigh, the other running gently through his brown hair. “We take a shower,” he said softly. “We crash in that bed and talk about stupid stuff. We sleep maybe. Get up for food when everyone’s gone to bed. Sleep until tomorrow after that.”

 

“And then tomorrow …” Lance lifted a hand, pressing it against Keith’s scarred side. His eyes were already sliding shut as Keith kept stroking rhythmically through those slightly coarse locks — Lance hadn’t really been all that invested in his appearance lately, it seemed. Keith cared for Lance in all his variations, though, and he liked this natural look.

 

“Tomorrow isn’t our problem right now,” Keith said firmly. He withdrew from Lance, standing up and snagging his hands to pull him off the window seat. “Shower. C’mon.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” Lance leaned in to kiss Keith tenderly but quickly, and then he headed towards the bathroom, his gait listing from side to side — he was going to crash hard after they were cleaned up. It didn’t matter that they’d both had a decent sleep the night before.

 

Keith felt tired enough to pass out for a week again. He heard the water start running in the bathroom, and Lance puttering about, stripping off his clothes and tossing them out onto the bedroom floor.

 

While Keith stood there, taking his jacket off sluggishly and leaving it draped over a nearby chair, the view from the window changed.

 

The Castle was pulling away.

 

2657-AbbDn faded from sight, the place neither Keith nor Lance had given a name, that no one had cared to title beyond its number designation. A year’s worth of living, nearly dying, surviving … Gone from his sight in the space of a few blinks.

 

He stared out into the pitch black.

 

“Keith?”

 

“Yeah, be there in a sec.”

 

The fragments left of him after all of this … they didn’t fit here. They fit _there,_ except _there_ was gone.

 

But he still had Lance.

 

This Castle had been home once. Keith knew how to make a space for himself wherever he ended up. He and Lance, they’d done what they set out to do, and now they just … had to see what they could salvage after everything.

 

Maybe it wouldn’t be much. But there was room to breathe, space to fashion a life out here, whatever that might entail — pain, usually, but he could cope with that. He and Lance, they were nigh on indestructible at this point. They’d broken just enough to slot into place on that unforgiving world, and they could break again to fit in this pristine Castle once more.

 

But not tonight.

 

He left the rest of his clothes on the floor, nearly tripping over Lance’s pile as he closed the bathroom door behind him. Lance beckoned him into the steaming shower, and Keith stepped over the lip of the bathtub, into Lance’s arms, and imagined that everything was washing away beneath their hands, though the scars were deeply entrenched, beyond their skin.

 

Home, Keith told himself. _This is home._

 

And tomorrow, he might actually believe it.

 

******

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Holy crap._** It’s so damn long, but I couldn’t split this up and have y’all wait even more. Apologies for my ridiculousness, if you made it down this far. Gold star for you if you have.
> 
> And now, for more specific thanks! Thanks to the awesome **ThornQueen** for the idea of giving Lance that facial scar, and the impact it’s going to have on him later on, to the fabulous **Kaylessa** for the notion that some folks on the cowboy world would find Team Voltron too pretty (and thus, Zan’s crushes were born ;D), and to the marvellous **hholy** for suggesting the leftover messages from Lance and Keith suddenly popping up on everyone’s computer — and so that horrifically angsty message from Lance that Pidge is hiding from the rest of team came to be :D So much gratitude to those amazing people!
> 
>  **Reader115** is too incredible for words, and I could not have finished this without her.
> 
> And to all of you who have been so unbelievably kind and supportive and patient. I don’t have words for you either. But know that I am, in my repetitive way, so damn grateful for you. I definitely have plans to write more for this ‘verse (there’s a certain _That Time My Fiancé Thought I Was Stripping For Cash_ story I owe you all ;D), but it may be a while, depending on Real Life.
> 
> Hopefully this last chapter was worth the wait, and I am so sorry for taking so long. Feel free to come hang out with me on [Tumblr (@thisgirlhastales)](http://thisgirlhastales.tumblr.com/) if you don’t mind my silly rambling and occasional bursts of recurring gratitude :)
> 
> Hugs to all of you fantastic folks :D
> 
>  **Edit Feb. 2018: _This is NOT the last story_ — click on the series name below to see more :D** If you want to be notified about updates, you can subscribe to the series, or follow me on Tumblr :) *hugs*


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